


Two People

by NorthernRose



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cheating, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Light Angst, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Ned and Catelyn are dead, Pregnancy, Slow Burn, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy, they are not perfect, well actually it starts quite quick because she is pregnant duh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-12-17 03:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernRose/pseuds/NorthernRose
Summary: Sansa sat on the floor in the flat Robb had insisted she rent, willing the test in her hand to tell her it was lying, that this was all just a big joke. Because this could be described as nothing but a big joke, aside from comedic value why would the universe do this to her? She was pregnant with Jon Snow’s child.The Jon Snow who wasn’t her boyfriend, who wasn’t her anything, not even her friend really, but Robb’s friend. The Jon Snow who was in fact, in a relationship with someone else. The Jon Snow who hadn’t spoken to her in two months since that night… the night this happened.OrSansa falls unexpectedly pregnant after a wonderful but regretful night of passion with Jon, who happens to have a girlfriend who isn't her.





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evenstarfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenstarfall/gifts).

> I'm here with a brand new fic! Thank you to the wonderful @Evenstarfall for the prompt.  
Our characters are in no way perfect here. I think we are in for a bumpy ride.  
I am uploading two chapters to get us going. Enjoy. Comments welcome.

If you would have asked Sansa Stark about her life, she would have told you she had it perfectly mapped out. She always had. A meticulous planner from childhood, a grabber of each opportunity, often turning even her own personal tragedy into something new, something positive. That is what she had done following the death of her parents at the age of twenty. That was three years ago now. She had put on hold her degree, returning home from the Riverlands to raise her siblings, and to ensure Robb kept it together when he was unexpectantly thrust into the role of Ned Stark, with all the responsibilities to boot.

Robb had gotten there, just about, dragged along by his curls, Sansa ensured he did not crumble. Robb would always worship her for that, till the end of his days, forever thankful that his sister had shown more strength than he ever had. Much of what they went through, in their darkest moments would always be left unsaid, private between them, just like their bond. It was theirs, no one else needed to understand.

But things were different now, things were… better perhaps? As better as five young people losing both of their parents in a freak plane accident, out of the blue, poof, just like that. Ned Stark had flown their small plan more times than you could count, but he never would again. 

Arya was in her second year of University now. She was a far cry from the self-destructive girl she was in the aftermath of the accident, she would love Sansa unconditionally for bringing her back too. Bran was still quiet, but that was him, he would watch the world over the top of his text book, happily observing and absorbing life in his own contentment. He was a teenage genius at eighteen also, which helped, Sansa would suppose. Sansa’s personal whirl wind, Rickon, her vivacious and wild little brother was fighting off offers to play Rugby and Football at prominent Premier League Clubs already, still just sixteen.

Robb was everything. She would be lost without him and she happily knew it. People would often comment that she had kept them all together when her parents had died but she knows that was not the case. It was her and Robb both. He kept their fathers business operating, for all the cooking, and cleaning and homework Sansa did, that would mean little to Social Services, it was the secure financial and family set up they had that allowed them to take custody of three minors, ensuring their family stayed together. They were luckier than most.

So yes, it was better now. Two months ago, she had left the North to return to University, she had been shy of completing her degree by mere months, a dissertation and a few final projects had stopped her from graduating in with a degree in Westerosi Literature. But that was changing, Robb had insisted she do this for herself. A feeble three months away from her siblings and her home was nothing for her to have this one thing for herself, he had told her, after selflessly giving up on her dreams those three years ago. She would argue she had given up on little, her family were her dream now, and she was more than happy with that arrangement. Nevertheless, she knew education had been the most important thing to her mother, she wanted them to be proud of her, where ever they were, so finish her degree she would.

So, if you had asked Sansa about her life an hour ago, this is what she would’ve told you. Her personal tragedy had been the renaissance of sorts she didn’t realise she needed. She was more mature now, less frivolous, selfless above all. But that was an hour ago.

If you asked her about her life right now, at this very moment, she would likely stare at you, perplexed and silent in her own turmoil. She had not made a sound in minutes, as she stared blindly at the object in her hands. Sansa hadn’t done a thing since she had watched the pregnancy test turn positive, except think how royally she had fucked up, how utterly insane this was. She sat on the floor in the flat Robb had insisted she rent, willing the test in her hand to tell her it was lying, that this was all just a big joke. Because this could be described as nothing but a big joke, aside from comedic value why would the universe do this to her? She was pregnant with Jon Snow’s child.

_Jon Snow. _

_The_ Jon Snow who wasn’t her boyfriend, who wasn’t her anything, not even her friend really, but Robb’s friend. _The_ Jon Snow who was in fact, in a relationship with someone else. The Jon Snow who hadn’t spoken to her in two months since _that_ night… the night this happened. _Gods save her_, she was utterly fucked.

Flashes of images flooded her brain, of his twinkling eyes, his soothing words, of how she had practically thrown herself at him, the poor man. He hadn’t been shocked for long. She could still feel his hands scorch her skin, his mouth, _that fucking mouth_ on every inch of her. She may not have said a word to him since, but her mind had wandered back to that night more times than she cared to admit. But it could never have been, it was just a spur of the moment thing, a Jon Snow size hole, that she had wanted to fill for far too long. Well she had finally done it and here they were. What had they done? When he had made her fall apart for him, over and over, anything like this had been so far from her mind, but her denial would not change a thing. Here she was, pregnancy test in hand, and a life growing inside her. 

She wondered then what Jon was doing right now… Back in the North, likely in bed with someone else. With his girlfriend, as he should be, blissfully unaware that she was growing his child inside of her.

It was the thought of Jon that had finally tore her from her bewilderment. It was the memory of him, and that night that made her finally crack. As the barrage of tears began to fell, she curled up into a ball on the floor and sobbed, great, broken, terrified sobs. She had not cried like this since her parents had died, she had promised herself she would never break like that again. Sansa was pregnant, her baby, growing within her at this very moment. Her baby, hers to love and keep safe, under her protection, safe in her stomach.

_Her baby_. She clutched her stomach possessively as she lay on the floor. _Mine_. That was her immediate thought. Gods she missed her mother. She would know exactly what to do and how to get through this. She would hold her and rock her in her arms and tell her everything was going to be alright. But her child would need her now, as she needed her mother. And unlike Catelyn Stark, who cruelly never got the chance to see her children grow and thrive as they had, Sansa would be there for her child, in every way they needed her.

She needed to pull herself together, she knew that. Crying her eyes out wasn’t going to change anything. She was still pregnant, with Jon Snows child. _Fuck._ What a nightmare. Sansa knew she would need to suck it up, lay on a thick coat of armour and deal with this, make a new plan for her and her baby. Right now however, she just wanted to cry. Tonight she would cry for another curveball that would upend her life and her plans, tonight she would cry for the old Sansa, the young girl she would leave behind, tonight she would cry for her poor heart, which was bound to be broken further along the way. She cried for her parents and for the fear of telling Robb, and Jon, _dear gods_ she cried for Jon, for the pain this would likely cause him.

_By the gods_ he had a girlfriend. What had they done? She wasn’t a bad person, but she had known, he had known. The honourable Jon Snow had known but he had still spent a night in her bed. Ygritte. She was nice, Robb had told her. She hadn’t met her. They had just been seeing each other, in the ‘dating phase’ still on that night. It wasn’t an excuse though, she wouldn’t do that, not even to make herself feel better at this moment. A new relationship was still a relationship. Her father would be so disappointed in her.

She cried for her old life and the love she felt for her baby, whose existence she had known about for just moments. It was a funny thing, to love and treasure something so soon, so quickly. 

One night two months ago had changed everything. Their lives would be marked by that night forever, of that, Sansa was absolutely certain.


	2. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a flash back to the 'night of'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some character ages that may be helpful;  
Robb & Jon - 27  
Sansa - 23  
Arya - 20  
Bran - 18  
Rickon - 16.

Two months earlier…

The love story of her brother and best friend was one for the story books, one that Sansa personally congratulated herself of orchestrating, thank you very much. This was her opinion first and foremost at Robb and Margaery’s engagement party. Sansa had organised the celebration herself, as a last blessing for them before she returned for her final term at University. Once that was done and dusted, she would be back, an accomplice in wedding planning and to hopefully start a career, whatever that might be.

Robb had met Margaery through Sansa. The two women had met at University, Sansa had instantly found her friends vivacious and no nonsense attitude refreshing. Robb and Margaery had done the whole ‘long distance thing’. She had been there, implicitly, supporting both Sansa and Robb through their grief when their parents had died, and once she had finished University, she had decided to start her life anew, with Robb, in the North. It was all rather neat and tidy and Sansa patted herself on the back often enough for throwing them together.

Sansa’s second thought that evening, whilst the happy couple danced and clinked glasses with their friends, was that she was painfully single. It was all rather self-indulgent, _poor little Sansa_, but she didn’t care. She had been out of the ‘dating game’, so to speak, since they buried their parents. Harry had not stayed the course, grief is not sexy it turns out, and he had not weathered the storm with her, not like Margaery had.

It had turned out, that dropping out of her degree to raise her three younger siblings did not ‘do it’ for most guys, so despite her youth, eligibility, and as Margaery would put it; ‘legs for days’, she had remained painstakingly single. It wasn’t the worse thing, _hells_, she was a strong woman, but she was also twenty-three now and she wanted what most twenty-three-year olds wanted, a good time.

So that’s how Sansa had found herself, sat at the bar, prosecco glass in hand, mulling her current singledom.

A hand slapping the bar next to here made her abandon her self-deprecation, a rather gorgeous hand that had rather unfairly haunted her since her sexual awakening in her awkward teenage phase;

“Stark…” he nodded in her direction, taking the seat next to her.

“Snow,” she replied, tipping her glass in acknowledgement.

Jon Snow had always been an enigma to her. Her brother’s kind and quiet friend, she had known him since the age of twelve. She had been attracted to him since the age of fifteen. Alas, the brooding mystery had treated her with nothing but gentle politeness for their entire acquaintance. He was Robb’s other half, he loved Arya with a sisterly devotion and cared for Bran and Rickon in an uncommonly good way. He was good to a fault which was irritating to belief. Jon however, treated Sansa like one would their awkward neighbour, with feigned politeness.

It was rather ungracious of him, to sidle up to her looking like every dark, handsome stranger fantasy she had every had. He wore jeans that were as black as his hair, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, what was it about bloody forearms anyway? She hadn’t seen his hair down in some time, free from the normal knot at the back of his head, gods she’d love to pull on his curls if she had her way.

“Drink?” he asked casually.

“It’s an open bar,” she replied dryly, “courtesy of CEO Robb Stark.”

“You’re spending Arya’s inheritance you know, she won’t be happy,” he quipped. She perked her eyebrows up at that, they rarely bantered with one another.

“You must be drunk Jon Snow, you told a little joke,” she nudged him playfully with her shoulder, ok, so maybe she was slightly drunk herself, “anyway, it’s money, you cannot take it with you,” she shrugged dismissively.

He furrowed his brow at that, she knew it wasn’t the comment about money, but the insinuation about death. It was morbid of her, but it was easy to joke about something so depressing, she had always found it so, well since her parents anyway.

“How are you?” he asked gently, “I haven’t seen you in a while?”

“Fine,” she responded with her usual defensive line, “you know, the normal, making sure the kids are ok before the big move back to the Riverlands, it’s only for a few months but I’ll come back to a fraternity house if Marge had her way.”

He laughed at that. It was sweet to see him laugh. He ordered himself a whiskey, and her a gin and tonic. Strange, she didn’t realise he would know that was her go to tipple. He clinked his tumbler against hers, “to the happy couple,” he said.

“To the only people they would ever be worthy of,” Sansa smiled gently. She noticed him gazing at her lips them, at the smile on her face. Odd.

She raised her eyebrows, “how are you anyway? Robb mentioned a new girlfriend?”.

He flicked his grey eyes back up to hers, so grey, like a winter’s sky, “good, yeh… well she’s not a girlfriend, we haven’t really got to that point yet…” he tailed off, frowning into his drink.

“Ahhh, the awkward ‘what are we chat’, I haven’t missed that,” Sansa took a long sip of her drink, she could see him staring at her from the corner of her eye.

“She’s nice I suppose, we’ve just been on a few dates,” Jon had turned away from her at that, it seemed like he was trying to convince himself more than her but she didn’t put too much stock in it, he had always been shy, more reserved than Robb.

“And anyway,” he continued, “what about you? How many poor blokes is the ‘Winter Rose’ leaving here in the dust as she takes on the world?” he really must be plastered, she thought to herself, it was almost like he was flirting with her.

She laughed dryly, “very funny and highly doubtful. I’m not actually top of most men’s wish list right now…” she rolled her eyes at herself, “sorry, that was very melancholy, not really appropriate ‘engagement party’ chat,” she commented, turning to the dance floor and catching the end of Robb’s exaggerated dip, Margaery half upended in his arms, Sansa smiled warmly at the sight.

Jon appraised her as she turned back to him, his mouth quirking up at one side. _Gods_ he really did stare, she felt pinned down under his gaze.

“You are joking…” he laughed at her, before turning back to the bar and muttering seemingly to himself, “who in their right mind wouldn’t want Sansa Stark?”

He finished his drink in one fell swoop, she copied him, tipping her gin into her mouth in a rather ungracious manner. And maybe she was just as drunk as he was, and a measure lonelier, it could be the only explanation for what she said next…

“I don’t know Jon Snow, you tell me…”

Jon coughed, wiping his hand over his mouth as his head whipped towards her.

“Tell you what?” he said, his awful and heavenly voice lower that she had ever heard it.

_Ok Stark_, he started it, with his soft, penetrating gaze and his delectable forearms, it’s now or never, you might as well go down fighting….

“Tell me if you want me or not,” she said, biting her lip and staring at him head on, “I’m in Room 201 if you want me to find out.”

With that she got up from her stool, placed a quick kiss to his cheek, and left the bar without a backwards glance. She could feel his eyes burning into her back the entire way.

\----------

_Fuck._

Honestly, fuck.

Why had she done that? It was one thing to flirt with Jon Snow, her brother’s best friend, to like his glances and admire his gods forsaken body, but it was another thing entirely to insinuate his presence in her room would be most welcome. Well, in all honesty, there was little insinuation. His presence in any room she happened to be in was a rather nice thought, but he had never given her so much as an inclination that he saw her as anything other than Robb and Arya’s prim sister. Maybe she had her wires crossed, or maybe he was just a man, human, like the rest of them.

She had slammed the door shut to her room and pressed herself against the back of it, the hard wood grounding herself back to some semblance of reality. Now he will never talk to her again. Maybe he would tell Robb, “Oi mate, your sister is a degenerate who wants to mount me in her hotel room.” _Please gods, no._

It wasn’t her fault. Not entirely. She hadn’t had any physical contact with the opposite sex in a long time, a really long time. Her last had been Harry, three years ago. By the gods, she was twenty-three, not dead! What was a girl to do? He was there, that was all it was.

He’d been dismissive of the not-quite-girlfriend though. There was something in that she thought to herself in her drunken stupor. He hadn’t even mentioned her name, not like he’d said hers.

“Who wouldn’t want Sansa Stark?” he had said, they way he had rolled her name over his tongue had made her want to whimper. A guy with an actual girlfriend didn’t say another woman’s name like that, like they wanted to devour you. No, he must not like her, maybe they won’t have another date, he hadn’t looked like he had.

Of course, she could just be telling herself all of this, to make her feel better for flirting with him, for getting too drunk to know better. He was far too much of a gentleman to turn her down in the bar she had considered. Thank the gods she had left the party when she had, she could chalk this all down to drunken silliness. She would apologise in the morning, they would laugh about it even, maybe, probably.

She kicked out of her heels as she continued to chastise herself. She tried to wiggle her zip down her back, only managing half-way. She cursed Margaery under her breath, she had made her wear the damn thing, it was practically another skin, the black dress was sculpted to her body and showed far too much thigh for her liking but her soon to be sister-in-law had insisted and honestly no one won against her best friend. She swore again under her breath, the back of her dress half down, the thin straps slipping from her shoulder.

**Knock. **

_Double fuck. _

**Knock. **

There was no escaping the strong, powerful knock on her door. Room 201. Someone was fucking knocking on the door of Room 201.

Her brain rolled her eyes at herself, _answer it, you idiot,_ it said. She really was plastered. You don’t drink prosecco, gin and shots all night and get away with it.

_Open the door. _

No.

_Do it… _

It was shocking how much the voice inside her head sounded like Margaery. Her happy, besotted friend, who was likely shacked up with her brother right now, without a care in the world.

_Do it. Scratch that itch_, the voice said again.

That’s all it was, she mused… A need, once fulfilled that could be put to bed forever, filed away for lonely nights to come.

It might not be him. He might’ve sent water and paracetamol, in sympathy with her tipsy state. Yes, it was likely room service, she thought to herself as she opened the door, dress undone at the back, hair lose and wild around her, legs and feet bare.

It wasn’t room service.

It was Jon Snow.

\-----------

Sansa had stood to the side to let him in without a word. Jon walked in, his eyes glancing wildly around the room as he closed the door gently. He turned to face her, a foot apart as he ran his eyes over her face, down her body and back up again. That one glance had made her feel more alive than any other man’s attention had in the last three years. It was unmistakably the look of a man who wanted a woman.

They appraised each other, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from his as she breathed in and out slowly, drinking in every part of him.

It’s just an itch. You deserve this, she thought to herself.

Well, if she was going down, she might as well do it in style.

Sansa grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him sharply towards her, crashing her mouth into his. It was hot, the hottest kiss she had ever had. A kiss only two exceedingly drunk and desperate people could share, lips and tongue and hands everywhere. His hands had gone straight to her ass, squeezing it harshly as she moaned into his mouth as she clutched him to her with all her strength.

Jon’s hands ran upwards to her back, grasping around her half open dress.

“Fuck,” he groaned into her lips. He pushed her off him and spun her around, running his hands up her bare spine. She braced her hands against the wall for purchase as she arched her back against him.

“Is this what you want Sansa?” he asked. His voice low and rough, “Is this what you wanted when you told me what room you were in?”

“Yes, gods yes, and you started it,” she whispered, dropping her head back onto his shoulder.

“Hmmm, and I’ll finish it too,” he groaned into her neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin of her throat.

This was stupid, it was irresponsible. They both knew it. But as he peeled her dress from her body, groaning at the sight of her, in just her lace thong, as she grinded herself back against him and he ghosted his hands across her chest, it felt anything but the mistake they both knew it was.


	3. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa shares some news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who may be interested, I will be modelling the healthcare system of our Modern AU to mirror that of the UK's. Universal healthcare is sexy IMO. May the Gods bless the Queen and the NHS! 
> 
> I hope you are all ready for some lovely Robb :)

“No, you bloody idiot,” she railed.

Sansa had stopped crying two days ago. It had been four days since she had taken that damn pregnancy test, and if you asked her, limiting her emotional breakdown to only two days really wasn’t bad going.

Now however, she had entered her self-coined ‘I’m moody and belligerent and I’m not here for anyone’s bullshit stage’. She wouldn’t say this out loud of course, she tried to limit swearing to her subconscious as much as possible but honestly, she was only human.

“Stupid, idiot,” she shouted again at the TV screen, shoving a mouthful of popcorn towards her lips as the baker on the screen over worked their rough puff, “worst Tart Tatin in history.”

Ok so maybe she needed to get out, fresh air, people, that sort of thing. Eating food out of a packet whilst critiquing a strangers baking prowess was not healthy. She knew this, but this was her ‘belligerent’ stage after all.

Sansa had not told anyone she was pregnant, that would mean she would need to make a plan. Plans were for grown ups, for parents, and now apparently, she was both. She had dodged Margaery’s text messages for a few days and ignored two calls from Robb. They communicated on a daily basis normally and new it wouldn’t take long for them to become anxious or suspicious in equal measure.

Yes, Sansa was in shock still. It was difficult to process so many emotions all at once. She had been angry, devastated, mystified, bewildered and in awe simultaneously. She wasn’t unhappy about being pregnant per say, she had realised this after day two. If Sansa’s young life had taught her anything, is that she could love, she could love fiercely and devotedly. She was sure she was made to love others, her family, her friends, and now her baby.

Growing up she had wanted nothing more than to be like her mother, with a loving husband and surrounded by children. Technically she had skipped a step, but she was having a baby, a baby she would love to the ends of the earth.

It would be hard. She wasn’t a complete fool, only partially apparently. But she had siblings who loved her, they would come around eventually from their shock. They would even accept that she could do this alone if she wanted to, Starks were fools for their family, and they would love this baby without question, part of their pack forever. She was even financially stable enough, well sort of, sure she didn’t have a career nailed out for her yet, but she had her inheritance and her home.

Winterfell was Sansa’s in all but name, she would never say that though, it belonged to the Starks, all of them. Before the engagement party Robb had sat her down and asked how she felt if he got his own place with Margaery, closer to the city and the business. Winterfell was out in the country; it would be easier for him and he worked so hard. She had encouraged him immediately; the couple likely wanted their own space which she could understand.

Rickon was still at home, in his final year at school. Arya and Bran would return most weekends from University, preferring to live on Campus during the week. Sansa would never begrudge Robb that, the fool had been so nervous to tell her. In reality, she liked being queen of the castle so to speak, she was made to look after her family home.

Winterfell was so _bloody_ big, it would be nice to have another Stark to fill it with. Her own family within her family.

The main issue had with the news of her pregnancy was that Jon Snow her baby’s father. _Gods, what a mess_. Some prompt stalking on his somewhat inactive social media had told him he was currently in a relationship, still absolutely attached to Ygritte. He was also Robb’s best friend. She would have to tell him, she was incapable of keeping such a thing, she couldn’t do that to him, but Gods it would be easier if it had been a stranger, some random hook up.

Sansa’s life had changed forever, the rest of her existence would revolve around her unborn child. She would love and care for them with every fibre of her being and she was fine with this fact. She did however, find it much more difficult to accept that she would be upending Jon’s life entirely.

Sansa knew him for a good person, he always had been, annoyingly so. She couldn’t see him not wanting some semblance of involvement in their child’s life. There was always the risk she supposed. No, she would tell him. She would tell him soon, but right now, as she lay on her bed in her flat, alone in the Riverlands for the fourth day in a row, right now she just really needed her brother.

\----------

Sansa technically had three weeks of her course left. She had spoken to her professor, feigning a family emergency which wasn’t a far stretch, they had kindly given her permission to submit her dissertation remotely. This is how Sansa found herself safely back in the North.

She hadn’t told her siblings she was returning beforehand; she knew this would immediately ring alarm bells, summoning the cavalry. Instead, Sansa had arranged an appointment with her Doctor, who had, of course confirmed her pregnancy and was referring her to her midwife and for her future scans, it was all rather neat, and easy, far too easy.

She knew it would be trickier here on out. She was 9 weeks into her pregnancy, it was still early, her doctor had cautioned her about this stage being higher risk. The only thing that could possibly give away her current state was her constant feeling of tiredness and that her breasts were tender. Other than that, she felt tickety boo.

Sansa loved her eldest brother unconditionally. They were a team, a pack. She would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she was petrified to tell him, his opinion was everything to her, and although she had accepted the life growing inside her, she couldn’t help but worry that he would be disappointed in her. His younger sister was pregnant, and Robb was the only thing close to a father figure in her life.

Robb was staying at Winterfell whilst she had been at University. They had planned for him to move into his new apartment when she returned at the end of her course. It was a weekday evening; she knew he would be there. She stood in front of her childhood home, the home she had been raised in, the home where her child would be raised, and she felt at peace. Everything about being there, back in the cold and bracing air, a day-old sheet of snow crunching underfoot, made her feel safe. She could do this; she was a Stark and she could be brave.

She walked determinedly up the front steps. Much of Winterfell were nearly four hundred years old, parts being replaced over the years, but the grey, stoned façade was imposing to an outsider, but it made her feel nothing but warm. Sansa continued her internal pep talk as she let herself in and carried on into the heart of the old castle.

“Rick, is that you?” She heard Robb’s recognisable Northern rumble from further inside the depths of Winterfell. She knew he would be in his study, their fathers’ study. She felt a pang of sadness at the thought. If things had been different, she would be making her way to have this conversation with her father. But she had Robb now, he was enough.

She tapped lightly on the door before letting herself in. Robb sat at his desk, papers in front of him and empty tumbler in hand, she took in the look of shock on his face as he registered her presence and he jumped to his feet.

“Sans. What are you doing here? What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

She raised her hands in front of herself, “Robb, calm down. I’m ok, take a deep breath.” He had made his way around the desk and engulfed her in a hug as she had offered her reassurances, “I just need to speak to you, once you’ve finished suffocating me,” she quipped, masking her nerves with humour.

He put her down and chucked, “seriously though Sans, what’s happened, you weren’t due back for another few weeks?” He took his seat again and she took the one in front of his desk.

“I know, but I needed to come home early,” she glanced down at her lap, fiddling with her fingers and frowning.

“Sansa, you’re worrying me,” she looked up and in truth, he really did look worried. He had lent forward and furrowed his brow in concern. It wasn’t unlike Robb to take on everyone else’s burdens since their parents had died.

Sansa took a deep breath, swallowed thickly and urged herself to be brave.

“I need to tell you something Robby, but I want you to listen and not say anything until I’ve finished. This is… difficult for me.”

He nodded his head numbly; she could tell his mind was going ten to the dozen to anticipate what was coming next.

“Ok, so… well…”

“By the gods Sansa please…” he groaned.

“You aren’t meant to interrupt,” she scolded, and he raised his hands in defeat, “It’s… well it’s difficult Robb. But I just want you to know I’m sorry, and that I love you and I hope you won’t be disappointed in me…” she paused, her bravery crumbling as she felt her eyes pool with tears. She felt so young in that moment, so small and afraid.

“I could never be disappointed in you Sansa. I know I shouldn’t interrupt but I just need you to know that,” he nodded at her in encouragement and she smiled softly at him.

“Ok, Robb… I’m pregnant.”

\----------

Her brother hadn’t said anything. She knew he was trying to keep his promise to her, the promises he had always made to her, that he would be there for her and support her and love her, come what may.

Sansa couldn’t bare the silence. It was crippling, so she stood and started pacing in front of the desk, “I realise this is a shock, and I’m not with anyone, I realise this isn’t what I planned, or what you might want for me, but Robb, I’ve thought about nothing but this for a week and honestly I don’t know what I would do without you right now, and Arya, Bran, Rickon, and Marge, definitely Marge, and… and well anyone else…” _Jon_, she thought, maybe she needed him too… “I know it’s a lot to take in. But I’ve started to make a plan, I can do this, I know I can,” she was nodding her head fiercely as she spoke, “and I love this baby Robb, I do. I know that doesn’t make sense. But I just do, straight away I loved this baby and I just hope you can understand that…” she hadn’t realised she had put her hand on her stomach as she paced, she hadn’t realised Robb had gotten up and walked behind her until she turned around and saw him in front of her.

Robb grabbed her to him and wrapped his arms around her. She sunk into his arms and began to cry softly, she had held it back for too long. He stroked her hair gently, like her father would have and held her to him.

“Shh, it’s going to be ok. It will all be ok,” he said finally, after what had felt like hours since she had first said those words.

He led her back to the chair, and she sat down when he pushed gently on her shoulders. Robb knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. He was too good, her brother, he looked at her with such kindness, like she would fall apart at any minute.

“I won’t say this isn’t… a surprise. We both know it is,” he tilted his head and looked at her with concern written across his features, “but you can do anything. If this is really what you want Sans, then we will be there for you, we all will,” he said it with such finality, and she knew it to be true. He had never lied to her before. If he had faith in her then she would always have it in her family.

Robb nodded his head a few times, looking over her shoulder absentmindedly. She knew he was trying to find the words to the thoughts whirring around his head.

He kissed her forehead and moved away from her, walking back around his desk, pouring another measure of whiskey into his glass and sitting back down at his chair. He clasped his hands together and sat back. _Oh gods, here we go._

“Who is he Sansa?” he asked quietly.

She groaned and dropped her head into her hands, unable to meet his eyes, for fear he would find the answer there.

“Sans, I need to know…” he said darkly.

“Robb please, he doesn’t know yet. I need to tell him first... Then I will tell you, I promise,” she said as earnestly as she could. “I just need to give him that courtesy, to save you trying to murder anyone, it’s the right thing to do. I will spare you the details, but it was no great romance Robb. I don’t know what he wants or what he will do but…”

“He will fucking do the right thing by you and your baby Sans, that’s what he will do,” he half growled across from her.

“Gods Robb, can we just cross that bridge when we get there. If he does or doesn’t want to be involved, I can deal with it, I think he will though,” she said softly, more to herself than him.

Robb took a sip of his drink, seemingly evaluating what she had said, before nodding at her once after a few moments.

“I love you little sister,” he said gently, “always have…”

“always will,” she finished. 


	4. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns some news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter from Jon's POV and we get some insight into his conflicted brain, remember, our characters are in no way perfect, as none of us are. 
> 
> This chapter contains a mixture of the present and flashback scenes.   
Enjoy!

**Sansa: Hi Jon, sorry to message you out of the blue. Can we catch up? Maybe today? **

Jon hadn’t heard from Sansa in about two months, well there was no ‘about’ it really, he could tell you the exact last time he had seen her, what she had been wearing, the embarrassed flush that crept up her neck and the nervous fiddling of her hands, he would likely never forget it.

He remained surprised all the same, despite her being in his thoughts as much as she had been, to receive her message that morning. He had been in a meeting with Mormont at the time and nearly drenched himself in coffee when he’d seen her name flash up on his phone screen. They didn’t message one another, not as a rule, unless he was occasionally enquiring about when Arya would be home, or what time Rickon’s rugby match started.

_Can we catch up?_ What the fuck did that mean? He rolled his eyes at himself, at his ability to over analyse everything. She had made it perfectly clear how she felt when they had left things the morning after the engagement party, much to his dismay… maybe she just wanted another hook up, no that wasn’t Sansa? But she had been so flirty, direct almost that night, he had never seen her like that before, so carefree, he was amiss at whether he would ever see her like that before.

Maybe she didn’t know about Ygritte, that they were still together.

_Ygritte. _

Gods he really was a bastard. They had been dating casually at the time. Casually? What did that even mean. The word didn’t take away from the fact he had slept with another woman, one he had fantasised about since he was eighteen, whilst he had been dating someone else. He had wanted to tell Ygritte straight away, but after Sansa had brushed off their liaison, he had seen little point. It was cruel to try and get over her with another, Ygritte didn’t deserve that, and it hadn’t really worked.

They had fun, Ygritte and he together. She was wild and beautiful and called him out on his broodiness, not that he ever saw much of a problem with his personality. They had been together for over three months now. It was still new, she was fierce and flighty, they had their first argument the other night, when she had been upset about the long hours he had been working, it had been explosive and he’d promised he would do better, but honestly, it made him realise he was never rushing out of work to see her. Maybe he couldn’t do better.

And above all, the memory of that night, the one night he and Sansa had shared together, no matter what he tried, could not be erased from his mind.

\----------

_He’d wanted this for longer than he could remember. That was his first thought as he threw her down on the bed. Her dress was still by the door, where he had pulled it from her body, much of his attire had been lost on they way, as they had stumbled further into the room. _

_His second thought was that Sansa Stark was undoubtedly, the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He couldn’t help but stand over her and drink her in. Her hair was strung across the bed, a wild and silky banner of copper. Her lips were slightly swollen from his earlier efforts, she had the most pale, creamy skin and he made a mental note of the smattering of freckles on her breasts as his eyes raked down her. The thong was pretty, but it would have to go, he wanted all of her, every inch of her and her long, soft legs. _

_He realised he had likely been staring at her for quite some time when she moved to cover her chest with one of her arms. _

_“Don’t.” he said, his voice hoarse and fractured. _

_She was sexy of course, and Gods did he want her, he wanted to fuck the life out of her if she would let him, but above all she was stunning, she was a goddess, and he would make sure she knew it;_

_“You’re beautiful Sansa,” he said softly._

\----------

Jon had always had a thing for Sansa Stark, for longer than he cared to admit. But that’s all it had been, a thing. He’d never acted on it. She’d had that twat of a boyfriend, Harry, when she was at University, and then Ned and Cat had died. Sansa’s life had changed so much then, as much as Robb’s. He was certain he had fallen a little bit more for her each time he saw her step up and do something for those kids. He had tried to do what he could to help, but no one had put their life on hold the way Sansa had, and she never wanted so much as a ‘thank you’ for it.

Now though, he knew what it was to kiss her. To taste her. To hear her sigh and moan under his touch. He tried to tell himself it was enough, the one, drunken night they had together, but he knew it was a lie.

He had made himself into some what of a proficient liar in the last few months, that was hard to accept. He had lied to Sansa the following morning; he had lied to Ygritte and he lied to Robb. _Robb_. Gods help him. He couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about sleeping with Sansa, but he regretted lying to his friend, the closest thing to a real brother he would ever have. Sansa was a grown woman, she could make her own decisions and wasn’t beholden to any man, he believed that firmly, but all the same he had kept it from his friend. Dishonestly was never something that would sit comfortably with him.

Thinking of Robb, as it always did, brought him back to her, to Sansa. Whatever her reasoning for wanting to see him, now, after months, he would never rebuff her, so later, that afternoon whilst sat back at his desk, he fired back a response;

**Jon: Sure, will be at the office until about 8pm, we can meet here for after? **

He continued to review his message, contemplating whether he should have tried to write something funny, or witty as her reply came back a few moments later;

**Sansa: Your office sounds great. See you around 7. Sansa.**

Great, now he just had four hours to dwell on the mystery that was Sansa Stark.

\----------

_Jon may have been well on his way to being plastered, but he would never be drunk enough to forget the way Sansa had tasted. He’d told her so, at the time, after he’d made her come twice, that she had the sweetest cunt he had even known. She had groaned at that, it was such an un-Sansa like noise and he thought he would burst at the seams there and then. _

_Hearing her whimper his name when she came was the most satisfying sound he had ever experienced, if it was the last sound he ever heard, he would die a happy man. _

_Then she had begged him, urged him on by wrapping her legs around him. She was naked beneath him, pinned down under his weight. _

_“Please Jon, I need you inside me.” _

_Need. She said she needed him, he would likely not forget that in a hurry. _

_“Condom,” he had stuttered out as she wrapped her hand around his length. It was emasculating really, he could barely breath let alone concentrate on anything else. _

_“I’m on the pill,” Sansa breathed into his neck and that was it, that was enough to make him push himself inside her, biting down on her shoulder to stifle his groan._

_After, they lay together, wrapped in one another as he rained kisses on her, soft, light kisses, on her lips, her cheeks and her neck. It was then that he realised he would happily fall asleep in her arms for many days to come if she would have him. _

_He shouldn’t have been surprised however, when he woke up the next morning, his head thick from alcohol consumption to find the bed quite empty. The bed was still warm from her, her smell surrounding him still and he could hear the sound of the shower shutting off in the bathroom. _

_He sat up in the bed, rubbing his hand across his face to try and appear somewhat alive as she walked out of the bathroom, in a soft, blue robe and a towel wrapped around her hair. She was beautiful, she always was, and he smiled at her softly._

_“Morning,” he said simply. _

_“Hi,” she muttered shyly. She looked sheepish, awkward, fiddling with her hands, it had always given her away. _

_“You look nice,” he couldn’t help himself. _

_She laughed in response and he shrugged his shoulders, “you always do,” he finished. _

_She looked at the floor again. He suddenly felt as nervous as she looked, tensing up, there was undoubtedly a blow coming, one she would land at any moment. _

_“Jon…” here goes, he thought to himself, “about last night…” _

_“Last night was…” he could do this, tell her he wanted this, that he wanted her…_

_“A mistake,” she interrupted. She winced as she saw him frown in response, “Not a mistake as such, but… just a thing, nothing to make a big deal of,” she crossed her arm across her chest, a determined look on her face, like the one she would give Rickon when trying to get him to eat anything from the vegetable family, and he wondered if she had been practicing this speech in the bathroom, “nothing worth upsetting everything or everyone over…” she continued. Who would be upset? Certainly not him. All everyone wanted was for her to be happy, surely? But maybe that was the crux of it, maybe he wasn’t the type of man she could be happy with. _

_So instead of telling her that it wasn’t a mistake, that she was everything he could want, that he wanted to take her hand and make her laugh and kiss her, gods how he wanted to kiss her, he said simply, “right.” _

_Coward. _

_She nodded her head in response. _

_“Good, thanks Jon, there is no need for anything to be awkward between us. We had both had a lot to drink and well… I don’t want this to be messy between us, Robb’s basically your brother, and Arya…”_

_“Nothing will be messy,” he interrupted, trying to sound as sure as he could. He didn’t want her to punish herself for this. _

_“Thank you, Jon,” she stared at him for a few beats, she had an odd look in her eye, like she was conflicted, at what he wasn’t sure, “anyway, I promised Margaery I would meet her for brunch.” _

_Oh, that’s it, that’s what she’s worried about, she wants her space. He would give her anything, so he would certainly give her that._

_“No problem Sansa,” he nodded. _

_She bit her lip, frowning for a moment before walking back towards the bathroom, at least she would let him dress and make an exit quickly. She paused at the door, turning back to him,_

_“Oh, and Jon, I hope you make a go of it, with your girlfriend… you deserve to be happy.” _

\----------

Two facts smacked Jon in face when his assistant showed Sansa into his office, at 7pm precisely. The first, was that she was spectacular, in her black roll neck and jeans, as she always was, the second that she looked to be completed awash with nerves, and he honestly could not have that, whatever it was.

“Sans,” he smiled and rose from his seat, how do you greet the person whose legs you’ve thought about around your neck every day for the last few months? He crossed to her and settled for a hug, it was resoundingly awkward, one she returned weakly, “how are you?” he said as he gestured to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. He sat in the one next to her.

“fine, thank you,” she said politely, although she sounded anything but, “how’s the government security world treating you?” she said awkwardly, fiddling with her hands as she evidently tried to find something to say.

“You know I couldn’t tell you if I wanted too,” he chuckled. Sansa mouth twitched at that into a small smile, “Seriously though Sans, is everyone ok?”

“Everyone’s fine,” she looked up at him finally, their eyes meeting.

“It’s just, you never come here, like this... I mean,” he gestured for her to continue.

“I know Jon, and look, I’m sorry to drop in on you like this…” she paused, swallowing thickly, his eyes followed the actioned down her neck, “how’s Ygritte?” she asked suddenly.

He snapped his eyes back up to hers, she was worrying her lip between her teeth, “fine,” he said quickly. The very last thing he wanted to do at the moment was confuse his idiotic brain any further.

“You made a go of it then… like I said…” she leaned forward towards him.

How could he answer that? Yes, he had tried, because he was a coward, because he wanted her, but he didn’t deserve her, and he didn’t deserve Ygritte either?

“Like you said…” he said instead, quietly, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“Oh Jon,” the small sob that sounded from her drew his intention immediately. Her eyes had pooled with tears, she looked devastated.

“Sansa, what is it?” he said, voice laced with concern, he began to reach towards her, but she shrunk away from him.

“No Jon, please don’t,” she begged, raising her hands in front of her defensively, a small tear tracking down her cheek, “Jon, I’m so sorry… I’m pregnant…”

\----------

_Pregnant._ She’s come here to tell me she’s pregnant. Which, through his meagre deductions meant that he was the father.

_Father_. He’d never had one, but he was going to be one.

He realised he hadn’t said a thing, he’d likely just been blinking at her like some deranged owl. He should comfort her, offer her some words of support, but he’d never been a poet.

He ran his hand over his face, his hands now more restless than hers, and cleared his throat.

“Why?” he said, brow furrowed.

It was Sansa’s turn to blink at him, she scrunched her nose in confusion, “well we…. You know,” gesturing wildly between them.

“No, no, Sansa. Gods I’m awful at this. What I meant is, why are you sorry?”

“Oh,” she startled in surprise, she almost smiled then as she considered him, almost, “well I’m not really, not for me anyway. It was a big shock, but this is what I want,” she moved her hand across her stomach, flat still and he couldn’t stop himself from following the movement, “but I am sorry for you, for the… upheaval this could cause.”

Her reasoning made him desperately sad. Here she sat, seemingly under the impression that she was alone in all of this, she was going to be the one having a baby, and she was worried for him. The world was not worthy of her.

“None of that matters Sansa, only you do, and… and the baby.” He needed her to see that, to believe that.

“I’m not sure you have fully processed this yet, I know it’s a lot to take in, trust me…” she sighed.

“You are likely right,” he nodded, Gods he was a tosser, could he honestly not think of something better to say, some sort of declaration that would make her feel safe and wanted.

“We can talk about it more, maybe in a few days, once it’s had a chance to sink in. But Jon, I don’t… need… anything from you, if that’s what you decide…”

That hurt, he was not too proud to admit, that she had considered his reaction would be to anything but offering her the world. He would have given her anything, for her and their child, if she would just take it.

“Sansa…” he tried to interrupt her, but she raised her hand for him to stop. 

“Jon, it’s ok, take some time, its better not to make promises we are not sure if we can keep,” she said with resolution.

He clenched his jaw and merely nodded. It would do no good to argue with her now, or ever in fact, he would never likely win.

She stood at that, clearly wanted to end this impromptu revelation, he went to rise with her.

“No, don’t get up Jon, I can see myself out, I’ve disturbed you enough.” She said with a gentle smile.

He looked up at her sincerely, “you could never disturb me Sansa,” he said softly. She reached the door and smiled back at him.

“We’ll see,” she drawled.

“But you’re ok though?” he asked quickly, realising he hadn’t even asked how she was. He was certain he would punch himself in the face as soon as she was out of the door, “I mean, everything is ok, with you… and the baby?”

“Yes Jon,” she nodded, smiling softly, “we are fine.”

_We_. His baby. His… no, she wasn’t his Sansa.

She fiddled awkwardly with the door handle, brow furrowed in thought, “Jon, you should probably know, I told Robb…”

Robb. _Fuck_. How he was still alive really was a miracle. His obvious efforts to try and mask his look of shear terror was clearly futile.

“No, I mean, he knows about the baby, but not about you, about us.” She said awkwardly.

“Oh, it’s ok Sansa. I will speak to him.” He could give her this, no matter how brutal it would be, he would do this for her.

She shook her head, “no, I think it will be better if I do, I want it to come from me, I mean I started all of this really…”

“We both knew what we were doing,” he said, in her defence, “but if that’s what you want, I understand.” He would deal with the fall out later, for there was bound to be one hell of a conversation with Robb in the not so distant future. But he would cross that bridge when it came to it.

“Thank you, Jon, we’ll talk about it in a few days, I’ll call you or something, I think I just need some time.”

“Anything you want Sans…”

She smiled softly then, glancing down at the ground, she looked as if she wanted to say something, just as he did, one of the hundred of things that were currently whirling around his head. He was going to be a father. Sansa was the mother of his child. Ygritte. Robb. All of it.

But instead neither of them said a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may get messy before it gets better, ye have been warned...


	5. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reflects on her revelation to Jon and Robb finds out the father of her baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a short chapter update for you... Happy Sunday.

It had been painful for Sansa to tell Jon. She had arrived at his office, a few nights previous, determined to maintain her icy and composed façade. She had been fairly successful at first, she mused, but as soon as she had brought up Ygritte, one of the many, many elephants in the room she had broken. Sansa was furious with herself for crying in front of him, albeit shortly. Jon had used that unbearably calm and measured tone of his, despite outwardly displaying his nerves, that fact had been reassuring, and made herself lean back to calmness, it was good to know he wasn’t entirely perfect, to her at least.

Then he had asked her why she was sorry and told her she had nothing to be sorry for. It was a gross injustice. She was loathed to apologise to any man, Sansa had done the same to Robb when she had broken her news, but in all honestly, she had plenty to be sorry for. Sure, anyone with half an understanding on human biology knew it took a man and a woman to make a child, but when said woman had told said man she was taking oral contraception, and then screwed up her regular schedule of taking said contraception, well really she did have something to be sorry for, a bit, a lot, that was up for debate anyway.

Despite every haywire and mind boggling aspect of their conversation, and the situation they found themselves in, Sansa hadn’t been able to help the initial moment when she marvelled at how handsome and lovely she found him, lounging as his desk, in the _gods forsaken_ charcoal suit, with his hair knotted at the back of his neck. The last time she had seen him his hair had been lose and mussed, from where she had pulled on it and it had tickled her thighs. It had been a hardship to stop herself from blushing at her distraction. She was pregnant, revealing to him that his life had changed forever, and she couldn’t escape the memory that despite her tipsy state, he had given her the best orgasm of her life that night.

That had been three days ago now. She hadn’t left Winterfell much since then, the world seemingly moving on as she settled into the safety of her home. She wondered if Jon had told his girlfriend, she could have called him to ask, but she didn’t. She wondered what he truly thought about the whole thing, she was having his baby, she could have called him, but she didn’t.

She had little time to ponder on it presently though. Tonight, she had absolved herself to speaking to Robb again. She would be approaching ten weeks soon, her first scan in another two, and there was really no way to block Jon out of any of that, even if she wanted to, which she wasn’t too proud to admit was not the case. If he wanted in, he was in, no questions asked, no matter how confusing and difficult that may be.

Sansa thought her plan was either cowardly or genius. She had made him a Dornish curry, one of their mothers’ old recipe’s and she knew he was a sucker for her cooking, a cold bottle of beer was already waiting for him on the kitchen island. Flattery may soften the blow. Robb had been even more attentive of her in the last few days since he discovered she was pregnant. Honestly it was almost suffocating but she was trying to be patient with him. She had made him promise not to tell anyone, not before she had informed ‘the mystery father’. Sansa was thankful that Margaery was visiting her grandmother in the South this week, that woman could sniff out a secret like bloodhound. 

Sansa straightened the hem of her dress and smoothed her hair as she heard the front door open, right on schedule. She would miss his regularities when he moved out in hindsight.

“I’m home,” his timbre echoing off the old stone walls.

“In the kitchen,” she called back, voice even and determined. She had been going over the various ways of doing this in her head for much of the day.

Robb strolled into the large kitchen. It was built into one of the older parts of the house, with high cavern ceilings. Sansa and her mother had painstakingly re-designed it a few years ago to try and accommodate a balanced, yet modern spin on the original features.

“Hells, that smells amazing,” he muttered, shrugging out of his suit jacket and throwing it on the back of one of the stools around the island, “where is everyone?”

She shrugged in response, “you know we can never keep track, Rickon is out with his friends, he said they are revising for an exam but I know they’re likely racing quads in the woods, Arya isn’t back till tomorrow and Bran is staying on campus this weekend, something about Meera needing his help...”

“Ahhh, so it’s just me and my sweetest sister,” he teased, “to what to I owe such treatment?” Robb gestured to the air around them and tipping his beer towards her in acknowledgement.

She sighed, trying to bite back a smile, “there really are no flies on you, are there?”

He grinned, like a cat, he really did love being right, “never, little sister.”

Sansa took a deep breath, placing her palms steadily on the island in front of her and squaring her shoulders as Robb frowned at her from his seat opposite.

“Sans, what is it? Is everything ok, with you, or… or the baby?”

“Everything is fine,” she said firmly, she supposed she needed to get used to everyone asking such things, “It’s just, I’m ready… to talk more about it all now.”

“Oh,” he responded, his frown deepening, _Oh indeed._

\----------

It was going well thus far, Robb had at least attempted to keep his face as neutral as possible and Sansa was thankful for it, but she knew it would likely not last.

“I know you hardly want to know the in’s and out’s of my love life Robb, or anything… of that nature, so I will try and spare you any frightful details…” she started.

“Grateful for it,” he muttered, voice thick with sarcasm.

“You’re welcome… anyway, a bit of… backstory may help,” she tried to continue.

“Sans….” He sighed.

She held her hand up in front of her, “please Robb, it’s hard enough without you interrupting every second,” he nodded slowly in silent agreement, motioning to lock his lips with an invisible key and throw it over his shoulder, she laughed at that, _Gods he had always had a touch of the dramatics_, “anyway, a few months ago, well I was lonely… and maybe a bit sad… and jealous, I was jealous, seeing you and Marge, so happy at your engagement party…”

“Sans,” he frowned in concern.

“Your mouth is locked, you shouldn’t be speaking,” she jested, “not like that Robby, and I’m happy for you, you must know that. You are made for one another, I just realised I haven’t got that, or anything remotely close to that, and I haven’t really, ever, had anyone treat me the way you treat Margaery.”

Robb took a swig of his beer, frowning all the while before slamming it down on the side in front of him, like that fact she had never had that physically pained him.

“Anyway…” she continued before he interrupted.

“Wait!” he barked.

“Robb! You – are – speaking – again,” she said slowly, crossing her arms across the chest.

“I get a pass on this one,” he said in a tone that would broker no argument, their father’s tone, “you said you felt like that when you saw us at our party, when did it happen?” she glanced down, steeling herself to answer, “come on Sans…”

“It happened at the engagement party,” she said quietly.

“You didn’t say goodbye…” he said, but more to himself than her, looking distantly across the room, she could see he was trying to piece it all together, but he would never guess, how could he? She would need to help him along.

“I didn’t see you leave for you room…” he continued.

Sansa didn’t interrupt, she would let him continue, for as long as he needed. She had dreaded his reaction more than anyone’s, more than Arya’s, who would likely want to smack her and Jon simultaneously, more than Marge, who want every filthy detail. Sansa had always had a desperate need to please her parents, to make them proud, and that had evidently passed onto Robb in the last few years.

“Who Sans? Who did you leave with?” he asked quietly.

She looked up at him, blue eyes on blue, the perfect mirror image. She could at least look him in the eye at this, he deserved it.

“Jon…I left with Jon.”

\----------

Robb sat motionless across from her, it had been several moments. Sansa tended to try and fill awkward silences, but she knew it would be pointless in this case, so she let the news wash over him. That didn’t stop her from feeling incredibly flushed, as she often did when she felt under the metaphorical spotlight. She was glad she didn’t feel weepy, her hormones had been far too traitorous of late.

_Say something please. _

_Anything…_

“Jon…” he muttered, running his hand through his curls.

“Yes,” she whispered; simplicity was for the best right now.

“Jon Snow?” he questioned, fixing her with his gaze, jaw clenched across the room.

Sansa nodded quickly; she knew her voice would likely fail her now.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he breathed, talking to himself, tipping his head up to the ceiling and leaning back on his stool, “Jon… fucking Jon,” he continued, almost on a whisper.

“Robb,” she knew it came out almost in a whimper, but she couldn’t let this go much further, so much had already changed, and she needed Robb to be ok with this, for Jon to still have his friend, they couldn’t have ruined that too, “I kissed him first Robb, honestly, you can’t blame him,” later she would analyse why she was so desperate to defend Jon, to make sure his wellbeing was not in jeopardy.

“It takes two to tango Sans,” he argued, voice raised, “he should’ve fucking used something, he shouldn’t have put you in this position, you of all people,” he said raising from his seat in anger.

“Robb that’s on me. He did ask, and I told him I was taking something, but with the party, and traveling to the Riverland’s the next day, well I messed up…” _you of all people, he had said?_

He looked at her softly. She knew he had difficulty in thinking badly of her, especially after the last few years but it would occasionally fog his judgement, she made mistakes, just like everyone else, “he should have made bloody sure…” he said, eyes dark.

“And before you get all ‘big brother’ on me, he didn’t take advantage of me Robb, as I said, I invited him back to my room and I kissed him…”

Robb winced in response, whether it was about the information she disclosed or something else she was unsure.

“That’s not what I think Sans. He’s my best mate, I know he wouldn’t… and its not about me being a cave man, I’m not an idiot, you’re a grown woman… it’s just difficult,” he sighed, “I can’t fucking believe you Jon,” he muttered as an afterthought, towards the ceiling.

“What does that mean Robb?” she asked. Why couldn’t he believe it, why was it do odd to him? Was she so completely wrong for Jon or anyone else for that matter that her brother could not fathom why he would be interested?

“Nothing, it means nothing,” he said defensively, he looked down at his beer, barely touched and pushed it away from him in a grimace, “I’m sorry Sans, but I need to go,” he stood quickly, reaching for his jacket.

“Robb please don’t, we should talk about it.” She begged.

“No Sans, I’m sorry, but it can’t wait…” he walked towards the door before pausing and turning back to look at her. His eyes were still full of such love, but there was sadness there too, blue pools of mourning, dedicated to her. He strode back towards her, kissed the top of her head and gave her a quick hug.

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” she whispered into his chest. _I like him, I always have, more than I should_, she wanted to say, but she didn’t.

“I’m not angry with you, I never could be…” he said, before walking determinedly out of the kitchen and towards the front door. She knew it unwise to follow him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to get into too much of a debate on the who's who of responsibility when it comes to contraception. The answer is, it's everyone!   
But this chapter just delves more into Sansa's feeling and self reflection on the matter. 
> 
> The next chapter is in the editing stage, so it should be up soon. Robb and Jon will meet and we will hear some more from Ygritte...


	6. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a visitor...

Jon sat on the settee in his apartment in Wintertown, his head thrown back and rubbing his temples. His two-day headache had not abated. Not since his life had changed irrevocable after his conversation with Sansa, and not since his many, many discussions with Ygritte. It had been agony for him, not to talk to Robb, but he would not disobey Sansa in this. It had been even worse, to not talk to Sansa, but it was what she wanted. She had asked for space and said she would call him. All he wanted was to hold her and tell her everything would be ok, he wasn’t sure if it would be, but he would swear it all the same.

He had never thought much about being a father, about having children of his own. At twenty-seven he hadn’t really thought much about where his life was heading. He had a good job, but he knew he worked far too much. He had a few relationships in the past, with varying degrees of success, but none that had amounted to any lasting commitment, so it had never come up in truth, the possibility of a future, of a family of his own.

Jon knew without a doubt that he would be there for Sansa, and for their child, on any terms she saw fit. Jon had been raised by a single mother, he missed Lyanna Snow and mourned for her every day. She had been his hero in many ways, but he had seen her struggle at times, and he would never do to his child what his absentee ‘father’ had done to him.

Jon had loosened his tie and thrown his feet up onto the coffee table. He knew he likely looked like hell; he hadn’t slept for days. He contemplated what take-away restaurant he should order from for the third night in a row when his phone buzzed, signalling an incoming call.

He saw Sansa’s name flash on the screen, and he scrambled for it, answering on the third ring,

“Sansa, what is it? Are you ok?” he answered breathlessly. He had been desperate to hear from her for days and was in equal parts grateful and terrified by her call.

“Robb is incoming…” she said without greeting. She sounded as breathless as him, “well I think he is anyway, Jon I’m sorry, I just told him, and he left in a hurry…”

“Oh,” he leant back on the settee, running a hand through his hair and pulling the knot free in frustration, “that’s ok Sansa, honestly. I’ve been expecting it… I’ll talk to him.”

She let out a long breath, “I think it will be ok,” she said, although it sounded like she was speaking to herself more that anything.

“How did it go? Are you ok?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. He knew Robb would never target his anger towards her, but he prayed she would not be made upset in the crossfire.

“Erm… as well as can be expected. He said he wasn’t angry at least…” she sighed.

“Not at you anyway, he loves you Sansa, you know that.” He nodded to himself.

“I know. Look Jon, I feel like this is all I’m doing lately but I am sorry…”

“I wish you wouldn’t be sorry,” he interrupted.

She chuckled darkly, “It seems to be a pattern, it must be the hormones. Look Jon, it was probably unfair of me to box you out the last few days. Maybe we could meet up tomorrow? We can talk… and… I don’t know, make a plan?” she sounded unsure, but he was already leaning forward in anticipation, it was a step forward at the least.

“Of course, anything you think is best. Text me with the details and I’ll be there, I promise,” Jon had every intention of fulfilling any promise he ever made to Sansa Stark for the rest of his life.

“Thank you, Jon, look, I better go, good luck, with Robb I mean,” she muttered awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about it, everything will work out,” he tried to sound as reassuring as possible, “bye.”

\----------

Jon had gotten to work immediately after getting off the phone to Sansa. He had taken off his tie, undoing a couple of buttons so he could actually breathe. He had found two tumblers and his decanter of the good whiskey and placed them all on his kitchen table, the dining room seeming too formal to have his ass kicked by his best friend. He rang down to the concierge, telling him he may be expected Robb, who was well known to him and left the front door on the latch. He wouldn’t make this any harder than it needed to be.

He knew the drive from Winterfell would take a fair while. He had waited forty minutes when he heard the door to his apartment slam shut. Robb walked purposefully into the kitchen and Jon began pouring them both a drink, large by even their standards. Jon grimaced when he took in Robb’s stony expression. He was not accustomed to facing his friend’s ire.

“Snow,” Robb said, his voice more monotone than he had ever heard.

“Stark,” he said back. He was going to be a father so now seemed as good a time as any to find some bravery.

“You look like shit,” he muttered dryly. Jon nodded in response, he was probably right.

Robb sat opposite him; his chair pulled back some what from the table. He picked up the whiskey Jon had pushed towards him and knocked it back, downing it in one go. He slammed it back on the table, his face straining as the alcohol burned down his throat. Jon leaned forward and poured him another.

“So…” Jon started.

“No. Don’t speak. Just listen…” Robb said, he sounded so much like Ned Stark in that moment that Jon winced, feeling like the schoolboy who had once wandered off with Robb into the Wolfswood late at night, but he nodded for Robb to continue, admitting defeat.

“I don’t care how difficult this is for you, because it will be damn less so than it is for Sansa, and I’m only going to give you this little speech once. I have thought about this a lot on the drive over. When Sansa first told me she was pregnant, I wanted to simultaneously wrap her in cotton wool for the rest of her life and also destroy the man that had made my little sister cry.” He huffed in frustration, “But then from the moment she told me it was you, about an hour ago… well, that changes things. Aside from my father, you are the best man I have had the pleasure of knowing, I would do absolutely anything for you, and I care for you like a bloody brother, always have, always will. So it’s a real fucking kick in the teeth, that after nearly ten years of you pining after Sansa like a love sick fool…” _oh shit_, “you decide that instead of doing something about it like a grown man, you have a drunken one night stand with her that winds up with her falling pregnant.”

It was Jon’s turn to tip the entire contents of his drink down his throat. The burn felt good. He subconsciously registered Robb leaning forward and refilling Jon’s glass for him.

Jon’s thoughts whirled with information throughout Robb’s lecture. His friend though he was a good man. He had said he would do anything for him, _he still would_, that had been an important point for Jon to absorb, helping him realise that maybe he hadn’t fucked their relationship entirely. 

But the vital point the Jon just could not ignore was that Robb had said he had _been pining over Sansa for ten years… _

“Robb, I haven’t been pining over…”

“Don’t fucking lie to me mate,” he said with annoyance, rolling his Tully blue eyes. “I know it may be a shock to everyone, but I’m not a bloody idiot, and I’m not blind either. You’ve liked her since you we were teenagers. But we’re not fucking kids anymore…”

“I know that,” he muttered childishly.

“Well evidently not, because here we fucking are, you’re still mad for her and you’ve never done anything about it, so be angry at me all you like, but you really should be annoyed with yourself, because your honestly a bit of a twat.” Robb finished, raising his glass in Jon’s direction.

“Cheers mate…”

“And now you’re going to be a father, and I know you’ve got more daddy issues than a Lannister,” Jon didn’t even try to deny it, “so I know we don’t even have to have a discussion about you doing the right thing, because despite your lack of testicles when it comes to my sister, you are a good fucking man, isn’t that right Jon,” he glared at him.

“Like you said, we don’t need to have that discussion. I have a good job, a decent apartment, I know she doesn’t need any of that, but I would do anything… anything for that girl Robb. And I won’t deny how I feel about her to you, seeing as you obviously know so much, but now isn’t the right time to do that to her, I won’t put her under that pressure, and I know I would never be good enough for someone like her, but I will be their for them always.” He said with as much conviction as he could.

“Who has ever said you are not good enough for anyone Jon,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

_There was no such thing as a bad Stark. _

“You have to say that, I’m the father to your niece or nephew,” he jested.

Robb scowled, trying to stop himself from smiling and Jon knew he was out of the firing line, although perhaps not out of the woods completely.

“I’m still not ready to joke about this, you’re still a fucking idiot. You’re just lucky I strive myself to give her some sense of privacy and not involve myself in her personal life, she has so little for herself these days,” he sighed. Robb picked up his glass, frowning down at it, “I can’t believe she’s going to be a mum,” he whispered.

Jon didn’t say anything, because in all honesty, he couldn’t believe it either, of any of them. They looked at one another, both sipping their drinks, a lifetime of friendship behind them.

“We’re good?” he asked tentatively.

Robb ran a hand across the back of his neck and sighed, “I think so, maybe. It’s early days in all honesty mate, this is… fucking big. Even if you had just slept together this would be a lot for me to deal with but it’s so much more than that now…” he swallowed thickly, looking down at the table, “I tried to think about what my father would do… if… if he was here,” Robb’s voice cracked a bit them and Jon felt his own throat go thick, “and I think if he was here, he would just be there for you both, so I will try… to do the same, as much as I can…”

Jon felt his eyes sting, and just nodded in response. He had never been much use with expressing his emotions and Robb had dealt with much of his sullenness and quiet demeanour, never worse than on the anniversary of his mothers’ death, so he knew Robb would understand, that his ‘nod’ would be enough.

Robb topped up their glasses, Jon knew he was giving him a moment and he silently thanked him for it.

“Anyway… considering I think I have free reign to be a bit of a prick, have you told Ygritte?”

\----------

_Ygritte._ She was yet another of his many layers of guilt at the moment. He felt conflicted about much of it, about her reaction and her insinuations.

“Yeh… yes I told her.” he said, staring at the table between them.

“And…” Robb gestured wildly for him to continue.

“She was… understanding at first,”

_“So, you fucked someone else when we first started dating. I’m not angry about that. We weren’t serious at the time. I liked you a lot, but we’d never had ‘that chat’, I wasn’t your girlfriend then,” she had said in such a blasé way, flipping her orange curls behind her. He’d felt uneasy, like it was one of these traps that men often walk into and just make worse. _

“…weirdly so, about me ‘being’ with someone else anyway,” he winced, remembering it was Sansa’s older brother he was talking to right now, not just his best friend, “but then when we moved onto the whole pregnancy issue, she kind of lost it, she said some stuff, it got a bit ugly…”

_“How do you even know ‘it’ is yours,” Ygritte had railed at him, pacing frantically across his sitting room, “’it’ could be anyone’s for all you know,” she shouted._

_“Don’t fucking do that Yg, I know it’s a lot to take in, and that I have been an utter dick but don’t do that. It’s not Sansa’s fault either. She is not like that, she’s never told a lie in her life, I don’t even need to ask, I know I’m the baby’s father,” he said, sounding angrier than he meant to. _

_“Well doesn’t she sound just perfect,” she said sarcastically, “can you hear yourself? You have a one-night stand, how can you expect anything else? So what, you want to go off and play happy families now?” he hated himself for making her so upset, for dragging yet another person into this situation. He’d never seen Ygritte cry before, and he could kill himself for it. Her rage was understandable, she had asked for none of this. _

_“It’s not like that Yg, Sansa and I aren’t together, you know that. It was one night a few months ago and I have been with you ever since. Sansa and I haven’t even discussed how we are going to do this…” _

_She wiped her face furiously; he knew she hated displaying any signs of emotion or vulnerability. _

_“I just need some time Jon, I can’t even think or talk about this right now. Just leave me alone for a bit.” She looked at his sadly, wiping her face on her sleeve one more time before walking determinedly out of his apartment, with her head held as high as possible. _

“We are kind of giving each other some space, I think,” he said weakly. Robb nodded.

“Seems like a bit of a cop out mate,” he said unhelpfully, Jon rolled his eyes, “no look, you either want it to work or you don’t, maybe you never did, tell me, if you and Sansa had been dating for a month, casually or not, would you sleep with someone else?” Robb tipped his head pointedly and Jon didn’t have the grace to meet his eye, “exactly,” he said, “and anyway, I fully believe you mate, when you say you will be there for Sansa, and the baby, maybe you can’t be there for Ygritte too? Maybe something or someone has got to give, and you’ve got to decide who that is…”

“Do you always have to be so honest?” Jon sighed.

“Always, especially when it comes to you being a twat with girls.” Robb was well on his way to being tipsy by now and he knew he wasn’t far behind.

Jon dropped his face into his palms and groaned, “when did I become such a dick?”

“I don’t know Jon, maybe about the time Sansa hit puberty,” he said sarcastically.

“Very funny. Are you staying the night?” Jon asked, nodding towards the half empty decanter they had gotten through. Robb nodded. “Good, but no more whiskey, I’m meeting Sansa tomorrow to talk about it some more. It’s been agony not speaking to her for the last few days,” he exhaled.

Robb raised his eyebrows at that, “You better not fuck it up Snow, you’re still on my hit list, us Starks, we endure, but you Snow’s are easily disposable,” he glared at him wryly, “but one more for the road,” he said much lighter, gesturing to their tumblers, “we better toast my new niece or nephew,” he said, flashing his annoying grin.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, unable to fight his smile in return.

Maybe, just maybe he could make good of this yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is in no way my wish to villainise Ygritte in anyway, but I am here for Jon/Sansa.   
Alas, hearts break as easy as mirrors... or something equally philosophical…


	7. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update for you my children. Enjoy!   
All aboard for some sweet Jon...

**Sansa: The Kraken, say 5pm? **

Jon’s reply, as always, came instantly.

**Jon: Sure, sounds great. Will be there. **

**Sansa: Figured it was neutral, and a Robb-free-zone. See you then. **

She had found herself doing somewhat ridiculous things in preparation for meeting with Jon, like re-reading their conversations, despite the clinical nature of them. There was nothing of interest to interpret, but she studied them all the same. Sansa had also spent an obscene amount of time getting ready and choosing what the wear. She had settled on a black dress, with long sleeves, thick tights and knee-high boots, with her grey coat, which fell to the knee and was embroidered with delicate winter roses. She didn’t want to give herself time to analyse any of this, or why she cared so much.

The Kraken was a gastro-pub of sorts, ran by Theon’s sister. It was safe ground, they had both been there many times, sometimes together with their group of friends. It wouldn’t be an odd occurrence for them to be seen there. Sansa arrived slightly early, intentionally of course. She sidled up to the bar and waved at Yara as she spotted her by the optics. Yara finished serving another patron and sauntered towards her, tea towel thrown over her shoulder,

“Well if it isn’t the prettiest Stark…” she drawled with a trademark Greyjoy grin plastered on her face.

“Hi Yara,” she said politely.

“Are you finally here to agree to sleep with me?” she cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Afraid not,” she teased back easily, looking at her nails distractedly, “You couldn’t handle me, besides, you have a girlfriend,” she winced as soon as she had said it, because that hadn’t stopped her lately when she was faced with a similar predicament with Jon.

“You wound me, besides, I’d let her watch,”

Sansa laughed genuinely then, she hadn’t laughed like that in some time, “you’re scandalous.”

“And your gorgeous, tell me something I don’t know… Never mind, I’ve been trying to get you into bed for two years, what’s another one between friends,” this joke had been going on for far longer than she cared to admit but she had always liked Yara, and admired her no-nonsense nature, “Anyway, what can I get you?”

“Can I get a tonic with lemon, and a beer please,” the tonic would be much appreciated, she had been feeling queasy all day.

“Meeting Arya?” Yara asked as she began filling the pint glass.

“No Jon, we’re just catching up,” she said, frowning at how defensive it had sounded to her ears.

Yara raised her eyebrows but said nothing more, before setting the drinks on the bar in front of her.

“Thank you, can you open us a tab? I’m going to grab a table, see you in a bit.”

Sansa carried their drinks over to a table, nestled in a small alcove in the corner, the quietest part of the pub. She shrugged out of her coat and smoothed her hair down as she sat. As she settled in, she realised it looked far too cosy, a candle sticking out of an old gin bottle on the table, it was almost date like. She huffed out a breath at herself in her own annoyance. For the life of her she wasn’t sure why she was over-thinking everything so much, or why she was so nervous. She knew this conversation was a long time coming, it was only fair to Jon, and to herself.

She twiddled with her hands nervously on her lap, when she spotted Jon at the bar talking to Yara. She saw Yara signal in her direction, pointing out where she was sitting. Jon looked over at her and she waved awkwardly, Jon offered her one of his soft smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He turned back to say something to Yara, she was laughing, when he turned back and started walking towards her, he was noticeably blushing. It suited him, she rather thought.

She stood up as he came closer, he seemed to startle slightly as he took her in, but she was far to distracted to dwell on it. He looked frustratingly good, so much so that she realised she was frowning, and she made a concise effort to relax her features. Jon always looked good in a suit, it was him in that _gods forsaken_ tuxedo that had gotten her into this mess in the first place, but he looked almost edible in dark jeans, so fitted they were borderline indecent and an old rugby top. His lovely hair was loose and tousled from the wind and his eyes were as grey and deep as they always were.

_Gods she was in trouble. _

Sansa would happily blame her current thought process on the hormone overload she had been going through in the last few days. They had really arrived in full force. As he approached, Sansa found herself opening her arms to him. _What on earth was she doing?_ A look of shock flashed across his features briefly before he brought her in for a hug.

“Sans,” he said softly, into her hair.

She wished he wouldn’t call her that, it was far too affectionate and made her stomach flutter. She realised she was holding onto him, eyes closed, and face pressed into his neck. She forced herself to pull back and smiled at him awkwardly, without so much as a word. She gestured towards the seat next to her, why she didn’t get him to sit opposite her, at a safer distance she couldn’t say.

“You look…” he paused, “…well.” He grimaced into his lap as he sat.

_Well?_ He thinks she looks well. It sounded like something she would say to the post man.

“Thank you, Jon, you look alive at least, no bruises or stitches?” she said casually, comedy seemed like a good cover for her nerves at the moment, but she had never been all that funny.

Jon laughed despite her musings, “No, Robb honestly wasn’t that bad. I was expecting violence to be honest, you know what he can be like when it comes to you,” she nodded her head in response and he looked at her with sympathy, “but he didn’t even come in all guns blazing. He made me sit there in silence for the most part, he was… disappointed I suppose, and perplexed maybe,” he grimaced again, “or confused, I don’t know, sorry… you know I’m no good with words.” He took a sip of his beer.

Perplexed? That was an odd word she considered. She would need to speak to Robb again about it all in more detail.

“You’re doing just fine Jon,” she reassured him. She took sip of her tonic water, touching her stomach subconsciously as she waited to see how it settled.

“Are you ok?” Jon asked gently, leaning closer towards her, his gaze fixed firmly on her stomach.

Sansa removed her hand as soon as her attention was drawn towards it, “sorry, I’m fine, just a bit nauseous, and going through emotional whiplash. Hormones,” she shrugged, “I’ll spare you the gory details.”

Jon sighed, a ran a hand down his curls, “Sans, I want the details. You can talk to me about anything…” he looked down at her stomach again, “besides, I don’t want to make you feel guilty, I really don’t, but the last few days… not hearing from you… well its been difficult.”

_Oh. _

She brought her hands up, covering her eyes with them, “Oh Jon, I didn’t even think. That was really shitty of me,” she mumbled into her palms.

She felt his hand wrap around one of her wrists and he pulled it away, he brought it down and didn’t let go, he began tracing small circles on it with his thumb.

“Don’t be upset, I get why you needed space, but I need to be as involved as you’ll let me, is that ok?” he asked gently, his eyes boring into hers intensely. She tried to file away the way his touch burned into her wrist for later.

“Yes,” she said simply, “well, I suppose we better get down to it,” he nodded in response, and just like that, his touch was gone. She missed it a lot quicker than she should have.

\----------

Sansa suddenly felt very business-like. She realised they had both been turned towards one another, leaning closely together. She straightened herself in her seat, gaining some much needed distance. They had hugged and he had run his thumb across her wrist, it has been sweet, far too sweet and confusing.

“Can I start?” Jon said. She nodded her agreement, “thank you, look, I won’t go in to the ins and outs of the conversation I had with Robb, it’s for me to deal with all of his… feelings on it, but one thing he said to me is that I need to be honest and grown up enough to tell you what I want, well as much as I can anyway…” he sighed, “and that was the PG13 version by the way. Anyway, I need you to know this, I know you don’t need me, in the traditional sense, I know you have a home, and money, and a family that loves you, and that you don’t need me as such to do this, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t… have me, I mean,” he winced, “sorry… I just need you to know Sans, that I know what it is to not have a father, and I could never do that to my child, I could never do that… to you.”

She felt her eyes pooling with tears. Honestly, she wished he wasn’t being so nice about it all. She had selfishly not even considered how his absentee father would influence his view, of course it was. She had been privileged enough to grow up in a loving and secure family environment, Jon had not been so lucky.

“…I would do anything for you, and I will… love our baby Sans, I promise you, so I know you said the other night you didn’t want anything from me, but I do, I want something from you, I want in, all in.”

Despite her best efforts, she was unable to stop a tear from falling down her cheek then, no more than she was unable to stop herself from wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging the poor, bewildered man into a hug.

It was perhaps what she had needed to hear all along.

“Thank you, Jon,” she whispered.

“It’s ok, you and the baby are all that matters right now, please don’t cry,” he said, rubbing her back reassuringly.

She pulled back and wiped her face, “I can’t seem to stop at the moment,” she sighed. She sat back and put her hands on her stomach, “Gods Jon, I still cannot believe this,” she said wistfully. He smiled back at her but didn’t say anything.

“I’m going to stay at home, Robb and Margaery are moving out next week, he wanted to put it off but I put my foot down, plus the wedding is in two months, so I want to be at home for Rickon and the others when they are there. We have so much room, so it makes sense, I know that’s not exactly close to your apartment…”

“It’s just a car journey, plus I’ve got my motorcycle, I want you to be comfortable, that’s the main thing, so your home is the perfect place for that” he nodded, his eyes where so sincere.

“Ok,” she conceded, “but please, Jon, don’t use that death-trap on my account,” she laughed, toying with a strand of hair.

_Gods don’t flirt with him. _

“Are you concerned for my welfare Stark or the motorcycles?” he quipped, raising his eyebrow in challenge.

_Is he flirting back? Seven save her. _

“I’m concerned for everyone,” she deflected. “Anyway, I have my twelve week scan next Wednesday, would you… would you like to come?” she asked, glancing down shyly.

“Of course, I do, I would love that Sansa. I meant what I said before, I’ll be involved as much as you will have me,” he finished, smiling at her.

“Ok, and then there is an appointment with the midwife the following week…” she continued.

It would be a lot, over the coming months, if he really wanted to do all of this with her, and despite her own insecurities, she did not have it in her heart to doubt his intentions. If she knew anything about Jon Snow, it was that he was fiercely loyal and never went back on his word. Despite all of this, she knew it wouldn’t be easy, there were too many variables, one she had ignored at considerable length;

“Did you tell Ygritte?” She asked awkwardly, biting her lip.

She watched as his gaze followed the action for a second before he cleared his throat and sighed before he ran his hand over his beard, “I did, we’re… giving one another some space,” he said simply. She sensed he did not wish to expand on this further, so she merely nodded.

“I’ll let you know all of the details about the appointments,” now seemed as good time as any for a change of topic.

“Thank you. And Sans… if you every need anything, pickled eggs at midnight or just to talk, promise me you’ll call me,” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together in concerns.

“I will hold you to the pickle eggs,” she said. He laughed at her then and she couldn’t help but smile, she had always liked his laugh.

She had always liked a lot things about Jon Snow.


	8. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have a scan.
> 
> & then we have a moment *sigh*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have been blown away by the support for this fic, your comments are wild. So, in show of my thanks, this is my fourth update in two days, they have been in quick succession, please, please, make sure you are reading the correct chapter as I would hate for anything to be spoiled. 
> 
> Thank you again, to quote my most gracious Queen Elizabeth II, you have been my strength and stay all these years (or something less dramatic)

It had been two weeks since Jon had told Ygritte about the baby. They had texted back and forth a few times but nothing of consequence. They had arranged to meet next week, he had subconsciously become aware that he had been in no rush to see her. Ygritte had asked to see him tonight, but he had put her off because today would be a big day for himself… and Sansa. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for Ygritte having to play second fiddle in this situation.

Wednesday had come soon, and today was the day of their twelve-week scan. Jon had buried himself in research about the pregnancy, because what single man wasn’t completely in the dark about such things, and he knew well that the first twelve weeks could be a risky time. Only Robb knew, within their family and friendship group at the moment. After today they had agreed that they could tell others, starting with the other Starks and Margaery.

He had found their conversation the other week to have been positive on the whole, and felt like they were on the same page moving forward. He understood she was fiercely independent, but it was important to him that Sansa knew she could rely on him for anything. He had not been surprised at all at how beautiful she had looked when they met at the pub, her cheeks rosy, and her legs, _Gods he had always been a complete fool for her legs_, let alone in those bloody boots. He’d found himself distracted a few times, like when she had bitten her lip, the last time she had done that in front of him had been to stifle a moan, yes it was distracting indeed.

Jon was aware he would need to do better. He didn’t want to pressure her. Just because they were having a baby together it didn’t mean she felt any differently towards him than she had the morning after Robb’s engagement party. She needed to concentrate on herself right now, and the baby, not his foolish notions of romance. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

They were having the scan at the Royal Northern General, just outside of Wintertown. Sansa was meeting him there was he was jumping out of work early. Mormont had been surprisingly blasé about the news, wishing Jon well and saying he could take whatever time he needed for appointments. Jon had been feeling quite nervous, despite their very adult conversations and mutual agreement to support one another, this seemed like the first real insight into their child they would share.

He had arrived at the hospital with thirty minutes to spare, knowing it could be a nightmare to park. Jon had some time to kill so he had gone to the café inside the hospital and picked up a tea, with honey and lemon for Sansa and grabbed himself a coffee.

As he was paying, he fumbled for his phone which was buzzing in his pocket.

**Sansa: I’m here. Sonography Dept is on the first floor, east wing. **

He grabbed their drinks and followed her directions; thankful he hadn’t had to try and decipher it for himself.

There was a waiting room in the middle of the department, next to a reception area. He spotted her beacon of copper hair from across the room and could see she had her face furrowed in concentration at the magazine in front of her. He coughed as he approached so as not to startle her, and she glanced up, greeting him with a full, warm smile that travelled to her eyes. _Gods she would surely kill him._

“Hello, you,” she said, putting down her magazine.

“Hello, you,” he parroted, handing her one of the cups, “Tea, honey and lemon,” he explained.

She blinked a few times and frowned, then stared wide-eyed at the cup, she looked like one of those sweet woodland creatures from one of those films he knew she loved.

“Oh, thank you Jon, I didn’t realise you knew that I liked that,” she muttered, she paused, frowning down at the cup again before leaning over and kissing him quickly on the cheek.

She looked away awkwardly, biting that bloody lip of hers and Jon felt his face heating up like a teenager. He coughed, before shrugging, in a stupid attempt to try and cover up how badly he wanted to dissect the whole exchange.

They sipped their drinks clumsily for a few moments as Jon tried to will himself to think of something of importance to say but as always, Sansa was one step ahead of him.

“I’m excited,” she said, he smiled at her and took her in from the corner of his eyes. She was glorious, she always had been, but none more so than when she smiled, and especially now, flushed, hair down and in her royal blue jumper, her eyes dancing in anticipation. He had never seen anyone more lovely.

“Me too,” he whispered shyly, as if he was letting her in on some deep secret. “I was a mess at work earlier,” she giggled then, he hadn’t heard that noise since god knows when.

“It’s good to know that even Jon Snow is human,” she said softly, nudging her shoulder with his.

“You have no idea sweetheart,” he said, he didn’t miss her blush out of the corner of his eye.

\----------

“Ok Miss Stark, if you could jump up onto the bed, make yourself cozy and just raise your jumper up as much as you are comfortable with, then we’ll get started,” the sonographer had a kind face and gentle voice.

Jon loitered awkwardly on the edge of the room, “Are you dad?” she sonographer asked, he nodded dumbly, she turned her attention to Sansa before continuing, “don’t worry, they are all like this love,” she quipped, her and Sansa bursting into laughter.

“It’s ok dad, we wont bite, pull up a chair,” he liked her instantly, and if it meant looking like a fool to make Sansa laugh then he was more than happy with that.

He sat down next to Sansa, rubbing his hands nervously on his knees.

“I can see this is you’re first baby Miss Stark,” she said as she looked over some notes on the screen in front of her.

“Yes, it is,” Sansa smiled softly, and he couldn’t help but mirror it back at her.

“And how have you been?”

“Fine, a bit of nausea, my hormones are all over the place, and some…” she paused and glanced at him before continuing, her voice quieter than before, “some tenderness.”

The sonographer smiled at her softly, “all completely normal my dear, as I am sure you know,” Sansa nodded, “now, shall we see how baby is ticking along,” she said jovially.

“Please,” Sansa said, exhaling a long breath. She turned to him and smiled weakly, brows furrowed and he couldn’t resist reaching out to clasp her hand in his, threading their fingers together, he squeezed it gently and caught Sansa’s gaze as she looked down on their entwined hands, before she squeezed it back.

“Ok,” the sonographer continued, seemingly unaware of Jon’s current state of inner turmoil, the one he had whenever he happened to be touching her, “this may be a bit cold,” she said, before squirting a clear gel onto Sansa’s stomach. The motion had made Jon suddenly aware that a length of her pale, creamy skin was a moment away from him, Gods how he had loved kissing and nipping his way down her stomach those three moons ago.

The sonographer began tracing the probe across her skin and he couldn’t help but squeeze Sansa’s hand again and began to trace small circles on the back of her hand as he loved to do.

She turned to look at him and smiled at him lightly, and he stared at her deeply, desperate to try and convey how much this meant to him, and how thankful he was to be here with her.

A pulsing sound echoed around the room and they both whipped their heads simultaneously towards the screen at the end of the bed. It would have been comical if he didn’t feel like he would burst into tears.

“There’s a lovely heartbeat,” the sonographer sighed, “and there is your baby,” she said, pointing to the small little mark on the screen. He stared at it for a few moments, just listening to the thump, thump, thump of the heartbeat. _Their baby’s heartbeat._ He turned to Sansa numbly and saw that she had tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks and she gripped his hand desperately.

“Everything looks wonderful, you’re doing a great job mum,” the sonographer nodded at her own assessment.

“She is,” Jon whispered.

Sansa turned to him, a look of confusion marring her pretty features, and he swallowed thickly as he met her gaze.

The sonographer cleared her throat, “right kids, what I’m going to do, is give you a few minutes. I have selected a few copies of your scan for you, I’ll collect them from reception for you whilst you sort yourselves out.”

They hadn’t so much as glanced at her as she left the room, their eyes still locked on one another. Sansa let their hands fall apart and pulled her jumper down. She sat up and swung her legs around.

“Gods I’m such a mess,” she sobbed.

Jon jumped up from his seat and came in front of her, “shh, Sans it’s ok,” his voice was thick with emotion, “I can’t believe it, that little bean was our baby,” he muttered.

She laughed gently then between her tears, “bean,” she sighed shaking her head.

He brought a hand up to her face and gently brushed a tear from her cheek, “thank you,” he said.

“For what?” she asked, looking up at him. On the high medical table, she was a few inches below him.

“For you,” he said simply, “for what you are doing for us.”

“Oh Jon,” another tear fell from her bright eyes, she wrapped her arms about his neck, pulling him towards her into an embrace, she moved her legs so he could stand between them, all the closer to her.

He lowered his forehead, pressing it against hers, closing his eyes so he could just breathe her in. When he opened them a moment later her eyes were lowered, through hooded eyes, staring at his mouth, he watched as her tongue quickly traced her own lips and he found himself doing the same. Jon did not credit himself with knowing much about women, but he knew the look of a woman who wanted to be kissed, it was the very same look Sansa was giving him now.

Jon leant forward slowly without thinking, so slowly, giving her the chance to pull away at any moment, put she only gripped the back of his neck harder, he ran his nose against hers and she closed her eyes, sighing in contentment, their lips just a touch away from one another…

“Ok lovies,” the sonographer chirped in her sing song voice as she barrelled back into the room. Jon stood up instantly as Sansa dropped her arms and he moved a step back from her, clearing his throat, “here we are,” she continued, oblivious to the nearly-but-not moment she had just interrupted.

Jon glanced at Sansa, but she was resolutely not looking at him, her attention firmly fixed on the print outs she had been handed. Jon was unsure if his heart rate would ever return to normal.

Sansa thanked the woman and put the photos in her bag before muttering a quick goodbye and walking out of the room.

“Well go after her then love,” the sonographer sighed, snapping him to attention, she threw a wink at him and gave him a shooing motion with her hands towards the door.

Jon strode determinedly and caught Sansa by the wrist a little further down the corridor, “Sans, wait.”

“We got a little emotional back there, didn’t we,” she laughed dryly, but he could hear the hollowness in the action, “well, that’s all done and dusted,” she continued matter-of-factly, still not meeting his gaze, “which car park are you in?” she asked.

He was utterly bewildered. He knew he was muddying the water, doing the exact thing he had sworn to himself this very morning he would not do, “the west car park,” he said numbly.

“I’m out the front, you’re that way,” she said gesturing distractedly down the corridor, “I need to go Jon, I have to pick Rickon up… Thanks… for today, I mean, sorry, I have to go,” she repeated before turning on her heal and walking quickly in the opposite direction.

Despite his promises to himself and his better judgement, it seemed he had fucked up anyway… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG.


	9. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reflects on telling the rest of the Starks her news. 
> 
> Jon spends a Sunday at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is essentially 4.5k words of Stark goodness.   
I'm not tally experienced when it goes to writing pieces that incorporate many, many characters, so I hope this doesn't come across.   
It is dialogue heavy, sorry-ish.   
Enjoy.

Sansa had not seen Jon in two weeks, not since the scan, not since their nearly-there-but-not-quite-kiss. She was entirely grateful; she had needed some space. Sure, they had communicated almost daily via phone and messages, Jon maintaining his constant enquiries about her wellbeing, he even sent her two boxes of lemon cakes from her favourite bakery in Wintertown when she mentioned in passing that she had been craving them. That had been grossly unfair. It was hard to be annoyed about the whole situation when he was being so sweet.

_Gods she had wanted to kiss him_. Desperately so. She likely would have if the sonographer hadn’t walked back in the room. But it would have been a mistake, especially when things had been going so well. It was her fault really, to flirt with him and enjoy his attentions. He always seemed so reserved and put together around her, so when his twinkling eye eventually broke through, well, it was pretty hard to resist.

She couldn’t ignore the butterflies she had felt when his nose had ghosted down hers, and she had felt Jon’s breath fan across her lips. They had both been so caught up in hearing their baby’s heartbeat, Jon had tears in his eyes, and she had never seen him cry as far as she could remember. No, it was simple emotions, a chemical reaction that had been fogging the boundaries.

She knew she would need to see him soon, she was keen, despite a little distance to ensure he felt in the loop. At fourteen weeks she had the smallest bump forming on her once flat stomach. She had cried tears of joy when she had seen it. She didn’t want him to miss anything.

Sansa’s biggest issue with the ‘kissing incident’ was that they were just letting history repeat himself. She hadn’t really had any clarity on how his relationship lie with Ygritte, and maybe she needed that. She pulled out her phone, deciding to take matter into her own hands, and sent him a quick message.

**Sansa: Sunday lunch tomorrow at Winterfell?**

Sansa had always tried to continue her mother’s tradition of having a family lunch, no matter who could or couldn’t attend. Rickon, Robb and Margaery were always there, even since they had moved out into their apartment a few weeks back. Arya and Bran would be there when University allowed but they both happened to be home the coming weekend, so it seemed like a good opportunity for them all to see Jon, and hopefully get more used to the idea of him fathering her child.

She had spent the best part of the last thirty minutes, laying on her bed in a towel, post bath, too tired to move. She felt her phone buzz against her side, sleepily clicking on the screen to open the message.

**Jon: Will there be roast potatoes? _YOUR_ roast potatoes?**

She giggled gratefully, that they could still joke and banter with one another, hopeful that he was as eager as she was to forget the whole incident.

**Sansa: Did you forget that I’m Catelyn Starks daughter? Of course there will be.**

**Jon: Noted, and never. I’ll be there. Usual time?**

**Sansa: Absolutely. **

She tossed her phone and reluctantly rolled off her bed, searching for some pyjamas. It had been a long week, emotionally speaking and Sansa was glad it was nearly over.

She had visited Robb and Margaery at their new apartment and used the opportunity to tell Marge about her pregnancy. Sansa had been shocked when her first reaction was to smack Robb around the back of the head, stating she knew he had been hiding something from her. Marge’s reaction to the news she had hooked up with Jon at their engagement party had been followed by a salacious whistle followed by a terribly long period of laughing.

“Honestly Sans, I just surprised you took so long to go there,” she had drawled over her wine glass. She had been bewildered by that and Robb had elbowed her in the ribs.

“What?” she had asked innocently, “When Robb’s not here I want all the details my sweet Sansa, that boy looks like he knows what he’s doing,”

_She had no idea._

She had said it so casually, ignoring Robb’s glare, “hey, don’t look at me like that, it’s all in the shoulders,” Marge had shrugged. Robb had looked utterly perplexed at that.

Bran had sweetly told her how much he loved her, and how proud of her he was, and how much like their mother she had become. She had cried gently down the phone to him after. Bran had then asked her if she wanted him to hack into Jon’s computer and leave a ton of viruses on it, he would. She had politely declined.

Rickon had merely nodded, pulled her into a hug and told her she was amazing, she knew a sixteen-year-old boy had little comprehension of how life changing this was, why should he, but she loved him all the same for his relaxed response. He had immediately changed the subject and asked where his rugby kit was.

Arya had been another story, and although not as emotionally taxing as her conversation with Bran, it had been the most frustrating out of all of them.

“Pregnant?” Arya had deadpanned on their scheduled weekly skype video call.

“Yes Arya, you see when a girl and a boy have a special cuddle,” she had begun to drawl…

“Pregnant?” She had interrupted again.

“Yes, little sister…” she paused, allowing her time to process it.

After a good forty-five seconds Arya finally cracked and barked in laughter.

“Seven hells. I can’t fucking believe it. This is amazing.”

“It is?” Sansa questioned in confusion, “well I think it is, but I get it’s a bit out of the blue.”

“Out of the blue? That’s one way of fucking putting it. It’s bloody ingenious Sans. Number one, I get to be an Auntie, I’m a great person and we all know it,” Sansa rolled her eyes at the screen, “secondly, you have never done anything remotely unexpected and I stan,” she nodded aggressively, “Corr, what a Tuesday, this has made my week.”

“Thank you, Arya… I think. On a side note, please don’t say ‘stan’ again. But there is more…” she sighed.

“Triplets?” she joked.

“Not quite, It’s the baby, the baby’s father I mean…”

Arya leant closer to the screen, glaring darkly at it, “if you say it’s Joffrey or Harry or any of those twats, Sans, I swear…”

“Gods no, it’s none of them, that would be one act of rebelling I am absolutely not capable of. No. Well,” she looked down shyly, she hadn’t been lying when she had thought how worried she had been to tell her sister, who loved Jon like a brother.

“Sans, you can tell me, it will be ok,” she prompted gently.

“It’s Jon,” she said, still unable to meet her sister’s eyes on the screen.

“Jon…” she muttered, “Gods Sans, your serious, aren’t you?” She whispered so quietly it was nearly inaudible.

She looked up and nodded. Sansa was surprised to find Arya looking at her with concern. She had expected anger or snippy comments, but the look on her face reminded her of how grateful she was of the closeness they now shared in their maturity.

“I’m serious,” she said, wiping the moisture from her eyes, “we slept together at Robb and Marge’s party, we’re not together of anything, it’s well, it’s just a mess.”

“Shit…” Arya wondered, staring off into the distance in awe, “maybe it doesn’t need to be messy,” she muttered, “how has he been, about it all I mean?”

“Amazing actually,” Sansa replied.

“Are you even surprised?” Arya asked, cocking her head to the side and giving her a knowing stare that made Sansa feel far too exposed.

“Not in the slightest,” she had sighed.

She knew it was likely not the end of it, Arya had seemed almost too relaxed about it, it was disconcerting. Sansa was just grateful she would have safety in numbers come Sunday.

\----------

Sansa had not missed Margaery’s self-congratulatory smirk, when Sansa had appeared downstairs on Sunday in the new, dark green dress she had gifted her. It fell just above her knees and was fitted to her figure, if you knew her well enough you might notice it, but to anyone else she likely just looked bloated, but she loved her little bump already.

“What?” she had questioned Margaery in retaliation.

“Nothing, you look positively edible, you’ll make a wonderful first course, oh…” she paused, grinning over her shoulder like an annoying feline, “lose the tights and for gods sakes, take your hair out of that braid.” Sansa huffed in annoyance but allowed her friend to shoo her out of the room, “now chop, chop, Mr Multiple Orgasms will be here soon.”

_Gods she really had to stop telling her things. _

Jon was driving up with Robb. They had been out the night before, ending up somewhat worse for wear at the Kraken.

Arya and Bran were meant to be studying before lunch but had so far commenced some sort of complex game that involved moving all the furniture in one of the sitting rooms and was loosely based on prominent battles from Westerosi history.

Rickon, who had been unusually attentive of her in the last few weeks, sat at the kitchen island peeling carrots. And she found him exactly where she left him when she returned to the kitchen, sans tights and braidless.

“Much better,” Margaery cooed.

“Oh, leave me alone,” she huffed, but she couldn’t help but grin when her friend threw her a trademark Tyrell wink.

“You better get used to me being right, our wedding is in one month, and I need my maid of honour on top form.”

Sansa saluted her friend and she absently stirred the gravy on the stove, “I will be on fine form, I promise, and don’t worry about my dress, I will let it out if I need to.”

“You, Sansa Stark, will be gorgeous, as you always are…” she paused, batting her eyelashes innocently, “I wonder if you will hook up with the best man?”

“Marge,” she squeaked, pointing her spoon in Rickon’s direction.

“I’m sixteen, not five,” he pouted, “besides, Marge and I ship it,” he grinned cockily.

“Ship it?” she said, deflecting somewhat in exasperation, “where do you even learn to speak like this?” she sighed.

“Buzzfeed,” he shrugged, “But don’t tell Jon, I intend to make this difficult for him,” he said darkly before chucking a carrot towards her, which was swiftly caught by Arya, as her and Bran entered the kitchen.

“Gods Arya, I will give birth if you sneak up on me like that,” she scowled, clutching her chest.

“We got bored,” she shrugged, “my Knights of the Vale destroyed Bran’s Wildlings,” she said joining Margaery and Rickon at the island.

_Gods this day was only going to get weirder. _

\----------

**Robb: we are five minutes away, can you meet me by the front door?**

Sansa loved sketchy, secretive Robb. They had often spent much of their childhood sneaking around and listening at doors, but when she had an inkling such sneakiness was being directed at herself, well she felt far less comfortable with that.

So, she found herself fiddling with her hands as she watched Jon’s car pull into the large driveway.

Robb and Jon barrelled up the front steps shortly after, both looking sheepish, she didn’t miss Robb’s hungover haze as he wrapped an arm around her.

“Little sister,” he intoned solemnly, “this is Jon, Jon, this is Sansa, he thinks you’re upset with him, discuss….” He said before turning around and walking towards the kitchen, “I’m too hungover for this shit,” she heard him mutter as he left them to clumsily face one another in the corridor.

“Hello, you,” he said softly.

She looked up at him and smiled.

“Your stomach,” he gasped after a moment after she had caught him running his eyes up and down her.

“Oh,” she murmured, “I know, it just popped out of no where the other night. It’s tiny right now.”

“It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful Sansa,” he said, although he still hadn’t taken his eyes off her stomach.

It was difficult to feel anything but beautiful when Jon Snow was looking at her like that, like she was something precious. But she could accept it, after all, it was his baby growing inside her and she would never underestimate the connection he might feel to his child.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much,” she sighed instead of acknowledging his proclamation.

“No, Sans, I’m sorry, look is everything ok with us?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We are fine Jon,” she said genuinely, grateful he hadn’t brought up the almost-kiss in as many words, “I’m glad you are here, you can save my sanity from my siblings.”

“Well I’m not promising anything,” he said, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and began leading them down the familiar route to the kitchen, “but I did bring lemon cakes,” he whispered, hoisting the bag in front of him.

She knew neither of them had missed the way it had made her shiver.

\----------

As Jon and Sansa walked into the kitchen, his arm still around her shoulder, she caught Bran’s inquisitive gaze and Rickon’s glare.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my sweet sisters baby daddy…” Arya drawled smugly from where she was sat on top of the counter.

“I saw you yesterday,” he huffed, “and please don’t call me that.”

He had seen Arya yesterday? Weird, she had said she had come straight to Winterfell. She glanced suspiciously at her little sister who was resolutely ignoring her gaze.

“And I will call you what I like, you’ve been calling me Arya Underfoot for years,” she said indignantly, crossing her arms.

“But you’re so small,” Jon laughed in a little voice, ruffling her hair as he wrapped his other arm around her shoulders.

“Whatever, daddy,” she smirked.

Robb groaned from across the room, where he currently had his head in Margaery’s lap, “if any of you ever call him daddy again, I will pull my own ears off,”

Margaery cooed at him softly, stroking his curls but looked far too smug from where Sansa was standing. She turned back to the stove, more than happy to let them work through this without her, but not before clocking Jon’s reddening ears and shy grin.

“SANSA-PUT-THAT-DOWN.”

She whirled around, all heads snapping towards Rickon’s direction and he glared furiously at his sister.

“It’s a pan of water, Rickon!” she snapped back.

“Why is everyone bloody shouting,” Robb scowled, rubbing his temples and sitting up to take in the scene.

“Rickon has been a little… over-protective of late, haven’t you sweetie?” she said, pinching his cheek after he removed the pan from her hands and placed it on the island.

Rickon blushed and sat back down, Bran nudged him on the shoulder smugly, “yes, thank the gods for Rickon, I’m sure every pregnant woman in the past millennia was just devastated Rickon wasn’t there to carry their pots for them, how did they cope?” he said dryly.

“Piss off,” Rickon grumbled.

“Yeh, leave him alone,” Robb sighed, pressing up to sidle next to his youngest brother, slumping an arm over his shoulder, “good job mate, someone’s got to keep an eye on her.”

“Yeh, someone has too,” he growled, staring pointedly at Jon.

Robb grinned, “Oh Rick, Sans sent me that video of your last rugby match, that tackle at the end was insane,” he said innocently.

Rickon looked up at him, matching his cocky grin, “thanks, it’s amazing what you can do to a man’s body when you propel the correct force at it…” he drawled before looking back at Jon.

“Ok, down boy,” Robb chuckled.

“Yes, please stop,” Bran sighed, “I can hardly breathe for the testosterone in the air,”

“Is everyone done?” Jon gestured around the room, fixing them all with a pointed stare, “that’s not directed at Bran or Margaery…”

“Easy Snow, you wouldn’t say that if you could see the images in my brain right now,” she smirked rapaciously, “Mr Snow, you are a surprise…”

“Margaery!” Sansa felt herself flush from head to toe, “right, that’s it, dining room table everyone, now,” she clapped her hands together, “hustle.”

Margaery sauntered out of the room, not before smacking Sansa on her ass, Arya hooted after her. Robb and Rickon were simultaneously grumbling and glaring at Jon as they left the room. Bran at least, sympathetically patted Sansa’s shoulders as he passed.

She looked up shyly and found Jon already looking at her. She really wished he wouldn’t look at her like that and she found it difficult to understand how such grey eyes could make her feel so warm.

“Sorry about them,” she murmured.

“It’s alright, they just need to get it out of their system,” he sighed.

“Bran would likely say they use humour as a way to mask their inability to communicate effectively… but maybe you could say that about all of us I suppose…”

He sighed again, raking a hand through his curls, “Sans…. How are you, really?”

“I’m ok Jon,” she said patting her little bump affectionately, “Oh, I have something for you,” she said suddenly, plucking a photo slip from the drawer next to her, “I, erm, sort of left with your copy the other day…” she said handing him the sonographers picture of their scan.

“When you ran away from me, you mean…” he grinned down at her, Gods she wanted to wipe that cocky smile from his face, preferably with her lips.

“Oh shh. I’ll take it back,” she threatened, trying to reach for it.

He encased her hand in his, cutting of her efforts, “no you bloody wont,” he laughed, “this is my little bean,” he said.

“Our little bean,” she huffed.

He pulled their arms down so they rested between them, she had been holding his hand far too much lately.

“_Ours,_” he said softly. Despite the distance she had craved so much over the last few weeks, it had evidently made little difference, as they were so easily slipping back into familiarity. He unclasped their hands and reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. She glanced up at him, through her eyelashes.

“Look Sans…”

“We are starving here!” Arya shouted from the doorway. Arms crossed and leaning casually against the wall.

“Bloody hell Arya, how long have you been standing there,” Jon scowled.

“Long enough, you just looked awfully cosy,” she smiled sweetly, “now hurry up, before Rickon eats Bran,” she said finally before spinning on her heels.

Sansa gestured to some of the dishes in front of them, “help me with some of these with you, and before you ask, yes I can carry them.”

Jon threw his hands up, “I wouldn’t dream of it, come on, look Sans, can we… talk after dinner? There is something I want to talk to you about.”

She nodded dumbly, both anxious and eager all at once.

\----------

Sunday lunch had not been a complete disaster thus far. Robb had them all in stitches as he regaled a tale from the night before, where Theon had led the pub in a chorus of ‘for he’s a jolly good fellow’ in Jon’s honour, to celebrate his impending parenthood. Robb had done an uncanny impression of Jon sitting sullenly at the bar, which quite mirrored Jon’s current demeanour.

“Shut up, all of you…”

“Whatever you say, daddy,” Arya laughed

Robb groaned, “Arya, you’re killing me.”

“I’m mischievous by nature,” she shrugged, she turned to Jon, appraising him with a narrow stare, “so Jon, besides the obvious, what’s knew with you?”

“Arya,” he warned.

“I’m merely inquiring into your wellbeing, why don’t you share your news with the group…”

Robb laughed from his seat, “Gods Arya, you’re a little savage when you want to be, leave him alone, but I had enough of his brooding last night, so perhaps now is as good a time as any…”

“What are you talking about?” Sansa asked, her gaze flitting between her brother and sister.

“Apparently Arya is meddlesome by nature also,” Bran muttered, although Sansa barely heard him, her attention was still on Robb, Arya and Jon, who apparently all knew something they didn’t.

Jon cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly in his seat, seemingly shrinking into it more, “it’s what I wanted to talk to you about later,” he said, to her across the table, “not in front of these bloody wolves.”

“That is nothing but a compliment to us Snow,” Rickon smirked over his glass.

“Fine,” Jon muttered, he continued, speaking into the table, “I have broken up with Ygritte, properly, officially…”

“Really Jon? What a surprise, do tell us when you made this decision?” Arya clasped her hands under her chin, looking far too gleeful than was decent.

Jon huffed, “a… while ago,” he said simply.

“And when did you break up with her Jon?” Robb asked, leaning back in his chair, with his arms slung behind his head.

“A few weeks ago, after… after the scan,” he muttered, not meeting Sansa’s gaze.

_Oh. _

“How interesting. Isn’t that interesting everyone,” Margaery said in her sing-song face, tapping her lip in curiosity with her manicured finger.

Jon cast a glare, aimed prominently at Robb and Arya, his eyes dark with anger. Robb immediately sobered at the look his friend had given him and expertly changed the subject, to something wedding related.

Jon turned and finally met her eyes, she furrowed her brows in concern at him, Robb has said he had been brooding, perhaps he was really cut up about it, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and mouthed the word ‘later’ to her. For all Sansa knew he could be really devastated, maybe she was the cause alone, and the familiar feeling of guilt began to gnaw its way into her stomach again. Maybe her obvious desire to kiss him the other week had been the catalyst, but she hoped she had the courage to talk to him ‘later’, as he had asked.

\----------

Sansa had been quiet for the remainder of the meal, so had Jon. The afternoon had turned into the evening, with everyone lazing around happily in one of the sitting rooms, feet up on one another and a film on.

Rickon had been demonstrating some tackles on Arya, much to her delight, one half of the room had the floor covered in cushions. Bran had been reading something from his syllabus but was occasionally shouting helpful comments and tips over the top of his book.

Margaery had a seating chart for the wedding set up on the coffee table, old beer bottle caps acting as their guests, this was all much to Robb’s dismay, who was being forced to participate.

Sansa sat on one of the settee’s with Jon, a bowl of popcorn between them. She was trying to concentrate on the film that was on, but she found herself watching Jon out of the corner of her eye more than the screen.

She was honestly shocked about her lack of willpower. She had likely put the poor man through hell by ignoring him largely for two weeks, and it had amounted to nothing, because she found herself thinking of him more. She had missed his gentle looks. She had liked it when he had tucked a lose strand of her hair behind her ear earlier. She loved it when he held her hand… far too much. It was all becoming messy. And now she was also aware that he was no longer in a relationship, or whatever he and Ygritte had been doing. He was single. She was single. They were having a baby together.

She blamed her hormones; it was an easy way out but that didn’t stop her. She did the same when she felt a pang in her chest when she took in the scene around the room. It was so… domestic. So happy. Three years ago, when their parents had died so suddenly and brutally, she would never had thought they would be at this point, together and whole.

“Hey,” Jon nudged her shoulder, “what’s wrong?” he whispered.

She wiped her eyes quickly, “I’m ok, I was just thinking of mum and dad,” she said, looking back across the room and her siblings.

“I think they would be happy, I think about them a lot too,” he continued whispering.

All she could do was nod; if she spoke she would likely crumble if she did.

He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand slowly, she turned her hand over and gripped his quickly, like she thought he may move away and squeezed his fingers in hers.

“I’ve got to go in a bit, walk me out?” he asked, frowning. She nodded in response, releasing his hand. Jon said his goodbyes, ignoring Arya’s heckles and Margaery’s knowing smirk and she walked out with him.

He stopped at the front door, “so we are still on for the midwife appointment next week?”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“Look about earlier, about…” he paused, looking up, “Ygritte. I was going to tell you when we were alone, but your insufferable brother and sister are destined to make my life a misery,” he grinned softly at her.

“Never mind, are you ok though?” She asked, her voice laced with concern.

“I’m fine, it’s been a few weeks anyway, and deep down I knew it could never work. I can’t give her what she needs,” he murmured, his eyes trailing back down to her stomach and up again, “the baby is my priority right now, and you, anything else is white noise, you know?”

“I know,” she smiled. “I suppose we kind of ignored the issue.”

“Maybe, outwardly at least, but I think I’ve known what it is I wanted for a while now,” he said, staring at her intently, “I’ll see you in the week,” he nodded at her, his gaze suddenly breaking away from her.

“Ok,” she agreed, “Oh and Jon, I am sorry, for the part we’ve played, about you and Ygritte…”

“Really?” Jon asked, turning back to her, “because I’m not,” he whispered, before placing a quick, chaste kiss on her cheek, and striding down the steps towards his car.


	10. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this could be borderline rubbish...  
Take it and run.

Jon knew he had a problem. It had been three days since he had kissed Sansa on her cheek, since he had practically ran down the steps of Winterfell, save him do something truly idiotic. But three days had not been enough for him to think of little else. It was almost laughable, for a twenty-seven-year-old man to be entirely hung up on a cheek, on soft, deep blue eyes, on a fluttering of eye lashes, but when all of those things belonged to Sansa Stark, well Jon felt that was explanation enough.

Jon knew without a doubt, that he wanted her, in everyway possible. Her wanted her life, her body and her heart.

He had wanted to kiss her properly, until she was breathless, but she had only just found out about Ygritte, thanks mainly to Arya’s interfering efforts, efforts he would happily and unexpectedly pay her back for in the future.

Arya had turned up at the Kraken the night before, Robb walking sheepishly behind her;

_“Sorry mate,” Robb had muttered, taking the proffered pint from Jon, “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come…” _

_“What the fuck are you doing Jonathan Snow?” she said, whilst jumping up on the bar stool next to him like an annoying little kangaroo. _

_“Drinking,” he said, tipping his glass towards her in salute. _

_“…and brooding, and pining and ignoring the elephant in the room,” she said, poking him in the arm at each word, “and what is that elephant?” she said, leaning over and asking Robb, he was resolutely ignoring her and staring straight ahead, as if the selection of whiskey’s were far more interesting that the current interrogation that was happing next to him._

_“Oh yes…” she continued, “you are head over heels in love with Sansa.” _

_“Arya,” he groaned, as Robb coughed into his pint next to him, “I’m not in love with her,” he sighed, running a hand across his beard. _

_“Gods you always have been a terrible liar. Do you want to know what I think?” she said, in her chipper little voice. _

_“No,” both him and Robb said in unison before bursting into laughter as she scowled at them. _

_“Jon,” she said, looking at him sympathetically, her voice much gentler now. _

_“Ok Underfoot, tell me what you think…” he said, ruffling her hair. _

_She swatted his hand away before swivelling into her seat so she was facing him, “I think, that you have never felt good enough for anyone, not your toss-pot of a mystery father, not any of the awful women you have dated, and not even us, and therefore, by association… not Sansa,” Jon winced at her assessment. _

_“But really, and I will say it till I am blue in the face, you are an idiot, and you are wrong. Believe me when I say, Sansa is the best of us, she is clever, kind, beautiful and loves us more than we deserve, so if we happen to think you are good enough for her, what does that say about you?” She said softly. _

_Jon stared down at the bar, letting her words wash over him. How could he respond to that, to the love the Starks had always given him. It was hard to feel worthy of that. _

_“Wow,” Robb sighed, “I’m glad all of that money we are spending on your psychology degree is paying off,” he joked, before clapping Jon on the shoulder, “she’s right though mate, she’s absolutely spot on.”_

Jon had always known the Stark’s cared for him dearly, like an extra limb, but since Sansa had fallen pregnant, it was undeniable how much they loved him, and he would be happy for them to be in his corner, always. But it would all be too easy to take to heart their wishes that he pursue things with Sansa. Now wasn’t the time, surely? He needed to be there for her, and so he would, come hell or high water. One chaste, delicate kiss on her cheek would have to be enough.

\----------

Jon would happily tell anyone who listened, even a bewildered Theon, whose sensibilities were far too ignorant in his opinion, that he had resoundingly enjoyed the first Midwife appointment he had attended with Sansa a few weeks ago. He had absorbed every fact and titbit from the midwife like a sponge. At one point he had drawn his phone out of his pocket and Sansa had hissed at him to put it away when he started tapping away at speed on the screen, he had merely cocked an eyebrow without diverting his gaze and told her he was taking notes. The midwife had laughed out loud at that and told Sansa to ignore him, “we get one like this every once in a while,” she said knowingly.

His morning at work had breezed by, mostly thanks to a cyber scare that he had thankfully rooted out with his team, with little complaint. He downed the dregs of his coffee before closing his laptop for the day, he was leaving early to meet Sansa at their appointment.

As he made his way to the underground car park, where his prized motorcycle was waiting for him, he decided to give Sansa a quick call to let her know he was on his way.

She picked up quickly, “Jon, hello, you,” she said breathlessly.

“Hello, you,” he grinned, “please tell me you aren’t running?”

“No,” she huffed, “well a little, I’m a bit behind, I need to drop Rickon at rugby practice on my way to you, but I just got a bit waylaid…”

“Is everything ok?” Jon said, steadying the phone between his neck and his shoulder as he held the door open to the stair well.

“Oh, it’s amazing Jon,” she squealed, “I got a letter from the University, they are awarding me my degree as an absentee, I got a First!” He could hear her practically vibrating with excitement down the phone.

“Sans,” he breathed, “that’s amazing. I’m so happy for you, you deserve this, a First too, I never doubted you.”

“Thank you, Jon,” she said, her voice sounding suddenly shy and small, “Robb’s going to lose it - _Rickon get in the car_,” she shouted.

“We should celebrate, after the appointment,” he said quickly.

“Really?”

“Absolutely, anything you want, dinner, non-alcoholic champagne, a mountain of lemon cakes, you name it,” he promised.

“I would love that Jon. _Rickon I can hold my own bag, I’m pregnant, not dead_ – I’m sorry Jon, look, I better get going, see you soon,” she stressed down the phone.

“OK Sans, see you soon,” he laughed before hanging up, Poor Rickon, he was almost certain he would be getting an earful in the car at this very moment, he couldn’t find it in him to blame him for wanting to wrap her in cotton wool, he was just another poor man who was completely devoted to Sansa Stark.

Jon realised he had essentially asked Sansa out on a date. The notion made him smile. He was so proud of her; she had returned to University for herself and he knew her whole family would feel the same. He found himself cheerfully whistling to himself as he approached his bike and acknowledged that he really was a fool, and likely always would be when it came to her. He could imagine Arya’s voice in his head telling him to ‘find his chill’ or something else that young people say. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

\----------

Jon was pleasantly surprised at how much his knowledge on women and the female form had improved since he had started attending appointments with Sansa. This was largely due to the supply of women’s health magazines he now had abundant access to. He sat flicking through his second magazine in the waiting room, whilst he waited for Sansa at the Antenatal Centre in Wintertown. It was in the middle of the city, not far from his office, but a bit more of a drive for Sansa, who was already running late.

His phone ringing loudly tore his attention away from an article on hypno-birthing and he scrambled to answer it. Robb’s name flashed up on the screen.

“Jon, mate…” he said before Jon had a chance to offer a greeting, “where are you?” he sounded frantic and alarmed.

“I’m at the Antenatal Clinic, what’s happened?”

“Someone’s hit Sansa’s car…”

“What? Where is she? Is she ok?” Jon shouted down the phone, he could feel panic rising up through his body and he knew Robb would be faring the same, he could hear that he was breathless too, likely running.

“Some idiot hit the driver’s side head on, she’s in Accident & Emergency and they’ve taken her to Royal Northern General. Mate…” he paused, “they said it was bad,” Robb’s voice cracked, “I don’t know how she is. I’m about a fucking hour away, I’ll be there as quick as I can but…”

“Yes,” Jon interrupted immediately, already striding towards the door, not throwing another look towards the curious glances of those in the waiting room. “I’m on my way, I can be there in 20.”

“Ok,” Robb said determinedly, “I’ll meet you there,” and with that the line went dead.

Jon was already running to his motorcycle.

\----------

On reflection, Jon could remember little of his journey from the Antenatal Centre to the Hospital, the route that would normally take thirty minutes took him twenty, the irony of his speeding after Sansa had been in a car accident was not lost on him.

Jon had felt a complete sense of numbness that one could only feel when undeniably afraid. He had, he was certain, never been so afraid in his life. Sansa and their baby were somewhere in the hospital Jon was currently tearing his way through. He had barged into the Accident & Emergency department, demanding to know where she was, only to be told by a petrified looking Admin Assistant that she had been transferred to the Maternity Unit, but they couldn’t tell him more because he wasn’t family. He would admit he had been rather rude then, before storming off further into the hospital, towards the Maternity Unit

“I’m looking for Sansa Stark, she was brought in by ambulance,” he railed off quickly as he approached the reception desk.

The man behind the desk checked his computer screen for a moment as Jon irritably tapped his fingers on the counter, “Are you her next of kin?”

“Yes, I’m Robb Stark, they called me,” he lied easily, honour be damned. “Is she ok? Please,” he had never been beyond begging.

“She’s stable sir as far as I know, the nurse will be able to tell you more.”

“Where is she?” he asked abruptly.

“She’s been put in a side room, third on the left,” he said but Jon was already sprinting down the ward.

Jon pushed the door open abruptly. Sansa was laying in a bed in the middle of the room, the door slamming against the wall causing her to whip her heard in his direction. She heaved a great, broken sob as she took him in. Jon’s feet moved without thought towards her and she reached for him, grabbing him by his jacket and pulling him down so he had no choice to sit on the bed with her. She winced at the sudden movement of his weight settling beside her

He tried to move back as she grimaced in pain, but she held on to him tightly, burying her face in his neck. He stayed completely still for fear of hurting her.

“Don’t you dare move away from me Jon Snow,” she sobbed into him.

“Sansa…” he breathed, “you… the baby?” he asked, barely able to say the words.

“Ok, I think we’re ok.”

He pulled back as gently as he could to look at her properly. She winced again as she sat back slightly. She had some cuts on the right side of her face, some bruising already appearing, she was attached to some monitors and looked utterly exhausted and overwhelmed, “you don’t look ok,” he prompted.

“They think I have some cracked ribs; they did an ultrasound and think the baby is fine but they need to monitor me. They want me to stay, they can’t give me much for the pain but it should be better in a few days,” she tried to reassure him, “Oh Jon, I was so worried about the baby,” she continued to cry. He brought a hand up to her face and gently wiped her cheek. She tried to pull him closer again, but he objected.

“I shouldn’t touch you, your ribs.”

“I don’t care, please,” she begged.

He leant in but didn’t put his arms around her, instead he brought his hands up to her face, resting them on each cheek gently, she rested her forehead against his in turn.

“I’ve never been so scared,” he whispered, “or so worried, Sansa,” he kissed her nose softly as he paused, “if anything ever happened to you…” he kissed her cheek, unable to stop himself, “I don’t know what I would do with myself,” he said, before moving across and kissing the other.

“We’re ok, we’re ok,” she said softly, he released a heavy breath and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. Sansa raised her head and ran her nose against his, he opened his eyes and found her gazing at him intently, “you’ll never lose us Jon,” she promised before slowly pressing her lips against his.

Jon returned her kiss immediately. It was a gentle kiss, he tried to pour every ounce of tenderness and feeling into it. She sighed softly as she pulled his closer by his jacket, which she had not let go of since he had arrived, and she parted her mouth for him, giving herself to him completely. As they kissed, Jon knew without a reason of doubt, that he was undeniably in love with her, and perhaps had been for some time. 

\----------

“We should stop,” Jon whispered against her lips after a few minutes. Sansa huffed in response and he couldn’t help but smile at that. When had he last smiled that day? When he was on the phone to her perhaps, before the crash that could have killed her and the baby both. They had sat on the bed, kissing gently for longer than they should have.

“We should,” he said again as he peppered her lips with slow, tender kisses. She retaliated by nipping at his bottom lip and he pulled away from her to restrain himself. Her pupils were blown, but he could see her cuts and marks clearer from a distance, so he moved back further.

“Jon,” she sighed.

“Sans, your ribs, you must be hurting,” he pleaded with her.

“I am,” she conceded, “but better my ribs than the baby.”

“Don’t say things like that to me,” he scolded, “better neither of you.”

She looked at him gently and placed a hand on her stomach, “we are fine Jon, really,” she raised another hand to cup his cheek, “why are you so sweet to me?” she whispered.

He took a breath to answer, so deny it, to say he wasn’t nearly sweet enough to her, but he could be, one day, if that’s what she wanted. But their attention was drawn to raised voices in the corridor.

“HOW CAN ROBB STARK BE IN THERE ALREADY IF I’M STANDING RIGHT HERE? – I DON’T CARE – SHE’S MY SISTER.”

Robb barged into the room, a rather stressed nurse standing behind him. His friend looked wracked with worry, curls wild from tugging at his hair and eyes rimmed red. He paused just slightly to take in the pair of them, Jon’s hands bunched in her lap and Sansa’s hand on his cheek, before locking eyes with her sister and releasing a loud, gut wrenching cry.

He had let the door fall shut, the nurse sensibly leaving them, and Robb fell back against the closed door, burying his head in his hands, sobbing into them.

Jon hadn’t had much time to think about his friend, and what something like this would have meant to him and Sansa. Two young people, who had buried their parents’ side by side after an accident. After hearing his sister, the person he had adored the most had been cut from her car, which had laid mangled at a crossroad. Robb had received a similar call to the one he had taken today a few years ago, about another accident, but he hadn’t been able to get there in time.

“I thought you might die,” he howled into his hands.

Jon turned back to Sansa, he knew the wretched look on her face was matched on his. She had tears streaming down her beautiful cheeks.

“Robb, come here mate,” he said gently.

His friend shook his head wildly, still buried in his hands.

“She’s going to be fine, the baby is fine,” he said, reaching up to stroke her face.

“Please Robb, I’m ok, please just come and hold my hand,” she said in a small voice, she sounded like she would have when she was just a girl, she had always needed her brother and now was no different.

Jon stood gingerly from her bed, “lay down,” he whispered, and he gently helped her to lie back on the bed, she groaned in pain as she moved and that appeared to snap Robb out of it. He was staring at his sister with hurt etched across his features. Jon walked over to him and wrapped him in a hug, they didn’t even bother to slap one another on the back as they usually would, “she’s alright mate, come on,” he whispered to Robb, before pulling back and leading him over to the bed.

And that is how they remained for the rest of the night, sat on either side of her, each holding a hand of the girl they loved more than anyone else in the world.


	11. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa recovers. 
> 
> Robb gets married *sigh*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After several comments from the last chapter it became apparent that I did not really explain where Rickon was at the point of Sansa's accident. Rest assured, he isn't in a ditch somewhere, so I have tried to elaborate at the beginning of the chapter.

Sansa’s recovery had been slower, much more than she would have liked and it had little to do with the time her body needed to heal following her accident and much more to do with her family. Sansa had spent a few days in the hospital, so her and the baby could be monitored. When she was finally cleared to go home, Margaery and Robb had been adamant that they return with her.

Robb had threatened to cancel their wedding if she didn’t adequately rest in the coming weeks. So, to avoid further chaos, she consented, reluctantly. Deep down she knew any rest for her would be good for the baby, but she ensured everyone who would listen would know what a great inconvenience it was to her. Sansa was not used to feeling so unhelpful and useless.

Margaery was many things, an apparently ‘overwhelming nurse-maid’ was one of them. She loved her friend dearly, but having her incessantly fluff her pillows and force feed her awful, fad cooking was really too much.

Rickon had been by far the worse. She felt a pang in her chest whenever she thought of her little brother. She thanked whatever God’s there were that she had safely dropped Rickon off at his Rugby practice before the accident had taken place. Rickon did not seem to feel the same way. He had been wracked with guilt when Margaery had collected him later that day, placing all blame firmly at his feet. He had beat his fists on Robb’s chest at the hospital and had sat at her bedside for two days until Arya had half dragged him home.

She had begrudgingly accepted everyone’s help, deep down she knew she needed it. Sansa had never felt so sore and battered in all her life. The bruising on her face had only worsened in the days immediately following the collision. She had dark purple circles around each eye and cuts on her forehead. She knew she looked like hell, this was very apparent whenever Robb looked at her, his eyes would be full of such anguish and pain.

It broke her heart to think of her brother’s reaction at the hospital, how utterly devastated he was, so much so that he couldn’t bare to look at her at first, for fear she would disappear right in front of him. They still hadn’t really spoken much about how it had made him feel, but he had seen the wreck of her car afterwards, and he knew better than anyone how lucky he was he still had his sister after.

Sansa had tried to block out the accident itself from her mind, she knew it wasn’t healthy, but the period of time from where she gained consciousness, having the door cut off of the car and being taken to hospital in the ambulance had been traumatic. She could remember sobbing incoherently to the emergency service workers, pawing at her stomach and shouting ‘my baby, my baby’ over and over again. She had never been so frightened in her life, so utterly fearful that her baby was not safe inside her, until Jon had barged his way into her room.

_Jon. _

She had never felt such relief then when she laid eyes on him. From the moment their eyes locked in that bland, little hospital room she felt safe, she felt strong. Her reaction to seeing him had been out of her control. She had reached for him instinctively; she knew in that moment she just wanted to be in his arms.

He had looked at her like she was so fragile, touched her so gently, or not at all if he could help it, and she would never forget that breath he exhaled when she told him that they were ok, it was like he had been holding it in for years.

It has been so sweet, when he had kissed her nose, her cheeks and her forehead. He had held her face and looked at her so deeply, like she was a cure, or a precious artefact, one he could not bare to lose, and it was clear to her in that moment, that every time she had told herself that it was just a mere attraction she had held for Jon, an itch, a temporary infatuation – well, it had all been a lie. He was everything to her, she needed him, and so she had kissed him.

Sansa was not accustomed to taking when she wanted in this world, but she would be forever glad that she had taken that kiss, and that he had surrendered so easily. She had never been kissed like that, so gently, so tenderly. They had kissed until she was breathless, until her tattered ribs had burned, and her fragile lungs had protested, yet she had just pulled him closer, until he had stopped them.

She had seen Jon every day since the accident. On her first night back at home, Jon and Robb had slept in chairs at the bottom of her bed, pointlessly she might add, but they could not be persuaded otherwise. He visited every day, in all frankness, she didn’t want him to leave, not ever. But they hadn’t kissed since. Not like they had at the hospital. Before he would leave, he would place a lingering kiss to her forehead and that was it. In all honestly, it just made her ache for him.

Sansa was fed up of waiting for what she wanted now.

\----------

Sansa was just shy of 5 months into her pregnancy when, on a beautiful, chilly, early spring day, she watched her brother marry her best friend.

The morning prior to the nuptials, which happened at high noon, were fraught with all the usual wedding day preparations.

She was nearly completely recovered from her accident. She had been surprised how it had only taken around four weeks for her ribs to heal. Sometimes she would still have a dull ache at the end of a long day. she was vainly pleased her bruising and cuts had healed, firstly so her brother could bare to look at her without threatening tears, and secondly because she did not want to stand as Margaery’s Maid of Honour looking like she had been in a bar fight.

She had tied Bran and Rickon’s ties for them and helped Arya, rather reluctantly, into her bridesmaid dress. She had found various Tyrell’s to occupy Margaery’s grandmother long enough to ensure she did not murder any of the staff at the country house they were holding the wedding.

Sansa had done Margaery’s make up for her, her friend not trusting even a professional, and buttoned her into her beautiful, white gown, with long Northern sleeves, but with a low-cut neckline that was ‘just Marge’. Her friend was remarkable, and she knew Robb would be speechless when he saw her.

Sansa had intended to dress herself last, in her pretty, dove-grey dress, with a chiffon skirt that fluttered over her bump just so, but had been interrupted by Jon, knocking sheepishly on the door, to traditionally deliver a gift for Marge from her future husband. She was startled when she saw him, standing there in his dark grey Morning Suit, hair pulled back and an easy smile on his lips.

They had all giggled and Arya had rolled her eyes when he stumbled into the room, muttering his compliments to the bride before Sansa had shooed him back towards the door.

“Nice outfit,” he laughed, gesturing to her robe as he picked up the silky cord tied around her waist and playing with it idly.

“I was just going to get dressed when you arrived,” she said shyly.

“You look beautiful in anything,” he whispered in the doorway, “save me a dance,” he said, before kissing her on the cheek and walking away from her.

The whole exchange left her with flushed cheeks and a pooling sensation in her stomach, because when his eyes burned into hers the way his did, and his fingers brushed the cord of her gown, well, it made her want far more than just a dance from him.

The wedding itself had been gorgeous. Sansa, forever the romantic, would never forget watching her brother and best friend saying their vows to one another. She found herself meeting Jon’s eyes, who stood loyally beside his friend as Robb swore himself to Margaery for the rest of his days, his grey eyes burned into hers, like embers. His gaze made her shiver, she smiled to herself and shook her head at him softly as he grinned at her, his eyes crinkling in response.

Robb had spoken so sweetly about their parents during his speech, about how he missed them, and they wished they were here. Robb was sat between her and Margaery at the top table, and Sansa had held his hand as he spoke of them.

Jon’s speech has the room in hysterics, as he dryly lamented the fact that the epic bromance of Robb and Jon has finally come to an end, but that he wasn’t to upset about it, because he still had better hair then Margaery. He told them how much he cared for them, and how everyone wished them well. He spoke an old Northern blessing and said how he wished everyone present would one day find someone like Robb had found Marge, and how Ned had found Catelyn. He had looked resolutely down at the notecards in his hand at that, but she felt his words scorch into her chest all the same.

\----------

“You should be dancing with your wife,” she said as Robb twirled her as a new song started. They had already danced one together, and before that Rickon and Bran had simultaneously danced with her, making quite the trio, much to the amused glances of the partners around them.

“And you shouldn’t be dancing at all, but I couldn’t resist another dance with my sweet sister,” he said.

She huffed indignantly, “I am quite capable of dancing as you very well know.”

“I know Sans,” he sighed, scrunching his nose at her, “but you’ve been rushed off your feet, and it hasn’t even been that long since your accident…”

“It’s been weeks,” she interrupted.

“And besides…” he continued, with one of his annoying grins stretching across his face, “you’re absolutely gigantic,” he said before barking into laughter.

She gasped in mocked outrage and tried to stamp on his foot, “I am not,” she puffed, glancing down at her bump, which really was still quite small by all accounts, but more obvious now to onlookers.

“No, you’re not,” he said, softer now, “you look like mum,” he said.

“They would be so happy for you Robby,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I know,” she felt him nod against him, “so we should be happy too, no more tears today.”

“No more tears,” she agreed.

“Besides, Jon will have my hide if I make you cry,” she found him grinning as she pulled back in his arms.

She pursed her lips, “_your friend _has been keeping me at arm’s length these past weeks,” she said.

“I wonder why that is Princess?” he raised an eyebrow at her, “_the father of your child_ is a bit of a fool when it comes to you, always has been, so go easy on him…” Robb looked over her shoulder before continuing, speaking much louder, “Yes, Jon’s a right foolish twat when he wants to be.”

“I can hear you, you know,” she turned and saw the topic of their conversation standing behind her on the dancefloor, his suit jacket and tie long discarded and neck lose, “and wedding day or not, don’t make me knock you on your arse in front of your new wife, Stark,” Jon grinned.

“I’d like to see you try Snow,” he scoffed, Sansa rolled her eyes at the pair of them, “are you hear to dance with my pretty sister?” Robb asked.

“If she’ll have me,” he replied, raising his hand in front of them, offering it to her.

She nodded coyly, Robb kissed her on the top of her head before she released him and took Jon’s hand.

“I need to find my wife anyway, before she realises she’s made a terrible mistake,” he clapped Jon on the shoulder as he past, before looking softly between them both and turning back to Jon, “if you break her heart, I’ll break your face.”

“Absolutely,” Jon agreed, as he pulled her closer to him and wrapped an arm around her waist, “hello, you,” he said.

“Hello, you,” she replied, resolutely looking over his shoulder.

“How are my two-favourite people?” he asked, as they swayed together, she could see Robb twirling Margaery behind them.

“We are fine,” she sighed, “a bit tired, maybe.”

“Sans, you should rest.”

“Jon, I should dance,” she replied dryly, still not looking at him.

He huffed a chuckle, he pulled her closer by her waist, the then pulled her hands up and placed them around his neck before settling both of his on her hips, she was so close she had no choice but to look at him, “that’s better,” he said, grinning at her.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said haughtily.

“I’ve seen you every day,” he said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yes, you have,” she sighed, “and you ask after the baby, and bring me things, and sit with Rickon, and kiss me on my forehead before you leave, but that’s it…”

“That’s it?” Jon questioned, “what else is there? What do you want Sans? Tell me, and whatever it is, I’ll do it, I promise,” he pleaded.

“You. I want you. I want us.”

He stopped swaying her then, she watched his throat bob as he swallowed thickly and his eyes ran over her face, but he didn’t say anything. They stood there in silence, as couples danced around them, before she couldn’t take it anymore.

She looked down shyly, doubting herself, doubting him, “but if you don’t…”

He laughed at her then, several deep and dark chuckles, “if you think I don’t want you, then you’re not half as clever as I know you to be. Of course I want you…” he continued, gripping her waist tighter, “that’s half of the problem. I want you so much that I think I might burst from it. Do you know what it was like to kiss you in that hospital and not be able to grab you and touch you? Do you know what it did to me, thinking I could have lost you, both of you?” he glanced down at her stomach, “I’ve been careful, yes, the last few weeks, because the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you, and it went too far in the hospital,” he looked back at her, the grey of his eyes were nearly swallowed by his pupils, he laughed again, “Gods Sansa, if you had any idea of the things I want to do to you…”

She interrupted him by pulling his mouth to hers and kissing him on the lips, it was a bruising, passionate kiss, so unlike the light, gentle touches of their mouths from before. He groaned into her immediately and she swallowed the sound. She pulled back just slightly, and pecked his lips once.

“Show me,” she whispered against his mouth, before nipping at his bottom lip.

“Hmm?” he asked in a dazed voice as his hands trailed up and down her back.

“Take me back to my room, and show me all of the things you want to do to me,” she said quietly, as her lips ghosted against his.

Jon’s reply came in the form of him grabbing her hand silently, to lead them from the room without a backwards glance. She went willingly, as she always knew she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our rating will largely apply to the next chapter, just saying *winks awkwardly a'la Jon Snow*


	12. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa carry on where they left off...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The road ahead is paved with smut. Please heed.

They had at least made it to the deserted hallway which led to the guest rooms before Jon had pulled her against him, capturing her lips with his. She could feel the fabric of her dress straining against her stomach, as he fisted it in his hands at the small of her back.

“I love this dress,” he murmured against her lips, “I thought I’d pass out when I saw you.”

“It matches your eyes,” she breathed, “although I’m lucky it still fits,” she quipped, trying to steady her breathing as she looked at him through hooded eyes.

“Hmm,” he sighed, “you look perfect, although I can’t wait for you to grow, the bigger the better.”

“Gods, you’re a caveman,” she rolled her eyes, as he boxed her between his hands against the wall.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea,” he whispered before dragging her up over his shoulder, she squealed in surprise as he clutched her at the back of the knees and started to carry her down the corridor.

“Rickon and Robb will murder you if they see you man handling me,” she giggled at him.

“Please, Robb will be beside himself with glee, he practically applauded me as I dragged you out of the ballroom, bloody pervert.”

It was so nice to joke with him, to love the feeling of being up in his arms, despite how ungraceful she likely looked. It had been too long, too many months of wanting each other and not acting on it, too many supressed hormones.

He refused to put her down for her to open the door to her room, she smacked at his shoulders and he merely laughed at her as she tried to negotiate getting her key card into the lock whilst half upside down.

He walked them into the room, kicking the door close behind them and slowly lowered her down in front of the bed. He placed both his hands on her cheeks, breathing deeply as his eyes ran over her face.

“Are you sure this is what you want Sansa?” Jon asked quietly.

She bit her lip to mask her smile and stepped back from his embrace. She pulled the zip at her side and let her dress skim down her body, so she stood before him, topless, in just her underwear.

She watched him swallow deeply and saw how his hand twitched at his side.

“Sans…” he breathed.

“I lied,” she interrupted him. If she didn’t say it now, she likely never would, “that morning, after the engagement party,” she explained as his eyes settled on her face, “it wasn’t just ‘fun’ for me, it was…” she paused, trying to find the words.

“More?” he prompted; he eyes fixed on hers, as he licked his lips.

“More,” she agreed simply.

He reached for her first, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her flush against him, “thank the gods,” he whispered against her lips, before placing a bruising kiss to her mouth. She melted into him and she searched for the button on his shirt front, popping them open between kisses.

He descended her neck, bending to take the lobe on her ear between his teeth and she couldn’t stop the soft moan that came from her.

“You’re so perfect,” he muttered into her neck as his hands ran up and down her back, “so beautiful,” he whispered.

She pulled his shirt free, down his shoulders and arms before tossing it carelessly on the floor and began walking them back to the bed.

Sansa lowered herself onto the bed, scooting back to the middle of the bed, in her underwear, heels still strapped around her ankles. Jon stood over her as he unbuckled his belt and continued to remove the rest of his clothes, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt on fire, laying in front of him with no where to hide. She knew then that this is what they had been fighting, this passion, this heat, that had always been there, that she had always tried to ignore.

“I’ve thought about you…” he began, as he moved onto the bed and over here, “laid out like this…” he lowered himself gingerly over her, she moved her legs to accommodate him between them, “I thought of those memories of you, every single night since,” he murmured, as he ran their noses against one another. She tried to chase his lips but he nosed his way down her jaw, breathing into her neck deeply, “how you looked that night, how you smelt,” she clutched at his shoulders, feeling the panes of his back ripple under her touch, “the noises you made,” he continued and she hummed in response, arching into him, “how you tasted…”

“Jon,” she breathed.

“I remember it all, every second,” he nipped at her neck before sucking at her collar bone, “but the thought of it just being one night,” he sighed, his hands ghosting up her side, causing her to shiver, “sweetheart, that killed me.”

Sansa writhed underneath him, his words, which she had longed for, for so long, were a torment to her.

“You’re everything, Sansa Stark,” he sighed softly as he kissed his way down to her breasts. He kissed torturously around the edge of one nipple, whilst his thumb came up to brush against the other. They were so tender; it was a gentle agony and she ached for him. She needed more, it was too sweet, too soft. She arched her back and whimpered in response. She could feel him smiling against her.

He licked and kissed his way down between her breasts, continuing his brutally sweet decent. She looked down at him as he settled between her thighs as he sat back on his knees. He had begun to trace her stomach slowly, his eyes mesmerised, as he followed the movement. Jon leant down and began to kiss her bump reverently as his hands settled on her skin. She stretched her hands down, reaching for his on either side of her stomach and threading them through his, his eyes snapped up to hers suddenly, as if he had forgotten she was there, she smiled at him gently and bit her lip as she took in his warm gaze, she knew she shouldn’t be continuously surprised by his sweetness towards her, but it still caught her off guard.

“I wont break Jon,” she said softly.

He grinned at her wolfishly, all teeth and raised eyebrows as he grabbed one ankle sharply and drew it up towards him, “oh, I know that sweetheart,” he began to undo the strap of her heel as he muttered something about “precious cargo” which made her giggle breathlessly. He took the strappy shoe from her foot and threw it absentmindedly behind him before kissing her ankle slowly, the action caused a jolt of pleasure to shoot through her.

Sansa released a breathy sigh as he repeated the motion on her other foot before settling her legs back on either side of him.

“Gods I love your legs,” he groaned, almost to himself as he ran his hands up her legs and to the tops of her thighs, “these are very pretty,” he muttered as he fingered the edge of her lace underwear. She bowed into the mattress.

“Please Jon,” she whimpered, not above begging at this point.

“Patience, pretty girl,” he chuckled, as he started to pull her underwear slowly down, she wriggled and moved to help him, hopeful it would get him to speed up his slow, agonising foreplay.

She was startled by Jon’s deep groan and litany of curses.

“Sansa, look at how beautiful you are, how perfect,” he had began to lower himself between her legs and was kissing and biting at her thighs, she writhed in anticipation. Gods how she had loved it when he had bitten and marked her thighs the last time they had been like that, on a similar night, in a similar room.

He buried his face between her legs and sucked in a deep breath, making her blush instantly and shudder. She felt his beard rub against her sensitive skin and found herself pushing herself into the bed for purchase. Her past experience of this nature had been… disappointing, but Jon, the one time he had devoured her with his mouth has been quite the education and she could feel her wetness growing at the thought of more.

She knew she was panting now. She had only ever been with Harry before Jon, and the build up had always been rather quick with him, but Jon, he was quite different, he seemed more than content to worship her at a rather glacial pace.

“Gods I’ve missed you pretty cunt,” he groaned into her.

“Jon!”

He chuckled at her darkly, “now’s not the time for your lovely manners sweetheart, I remember how wet it made you last time when I told you how much I loved your cunt, shall we see if you still like it?” Jon asked lowly before dragging his tongue slowly up her, she bucked her hips towards him and cried out, the anticipation making her burn for him.

“Hmmm,” he sighed, “just as wet and just as sweet,” he muttered before languidly tasting her and rolling his tongue around her nub.

She pulled her hands through his hair, causing it to fall free from the knot he wore. She dug her nails into his scalp, and he groaned into her flesh.

“That’s it, use me Sans, tell me what you want,”

“You,” she moaned, “this… I’ve thought about this every night,” she whimpered.

She cried out as she felt him suck on her nub and slide a finger inside her. She thought she would die from the feeling. She had been so sensitive of late, not that she had told anyone. Not an hour would pass without her thinking of her own pleasure, and now amount of self-gratification felt like this, excess hormones or not, she was just desperate for Jon to have her.

“I want to see you and hear you sweetheart,” he muttered before nipping gently at her nub, adding a second finger to her, “I want to make you come every day.”

“Please, Jon,” she begged, as she canted her hips against his face, pulling on his hair harshly as she dragged her heels against his back. If she hurt him, he did not complain, and she knew she must look utterly debauched as he feasted on her.

She broke apart under his hand, under his tongue, crying out his name softly, as she shivered violently before sinking back into the mattress, wrung out on her pleasure.

She became aware that he hadn’t stopped, as he gently ran his tongue through her wetness, nipping and sucking at her sensitive flesh.

“Please, Jon,” she whimpered, as she settled a foot on his shoulder and pushed him off, “enough, you’ll kill me.”

He chuckled at her as he lay himself over her again and kissed her deeply, his mouth and lips wet from her, hot and intoxicating, “I love fucking you with my tongue,” he sighed, as he drew one of her thighs up around his hip.

Sansa curved into him, shuddering as she felt his length, hard and thick against her, she bucked into him softly, causing him to curse into her neck. She loved her feel of him above her, chest pressed together and his body against her small bump.

“You’ll be the death of me, pretty girl,” he whispered. Jon began kissing her deeply, nipping at her lips and rolling his tongue slowly around hers. It was exhilarating in its slowness, so full of passion and feeling. She moaned loudly into his mouth as she felt him slowly press against her entrance, she chased the feeling of him filling her as he pushed himself inside her.

“Jon,” she cried into his mouth. He grabbed one of her hands and entwined it with his, pinning it above her head. She clutched to his hand for purchase, moaning his name over and over as he moved in and out of her, in strong, powerful stroked.

She knew what she wanted, hitching her leg higher and he cursed as he moved deeper inside her.

“That’s it sweetheart, you’re so tight, so wet,” he groaned against her lips, “say you’re mine, please Sansa,” he begged, his eyes locked with hers and his gaze dark.

“Yours, Jon, I’m yours,” she sobbed, “I’m so close Jon.”

He fucked her harder then, with slow, deep thrusts, “I know sweet girl, you’re nearly there, I’ve got you.” Jon brought a hand down to her nub and pressed his palm against her, letting the pressure of his body rock it into her, “come for me,” he commanded.

One, two, three more pressing thrusts and she fell apart, her second orgasm washing over her as she cried out his name, sobbing incoherently. She clenched around him and he groaned loudly, spending inside her as her body fluttered against his.

Jon rolled them both, she knew to avoid collapsing on top of her, pulling her on top of him. She felt utterly exhausted as he carded his hands through her hair, laying there for a moment as they breathed one another in.

She raised herself up, through hooded eyes and rested her forehead against his, kissing his lips gently, “Jon, what are you doing to me?” She sighed as she felt his quietness wash over them, eager for more of him, “look at me Jon,” she said softly.

He raised his eyes to hers, so solemn, so usually sure, and she can see everything in those great, grey pools of his; every secret and longing glance he had for her, every soft touch in recent weeks, the imploring gazes and restraint, when he had wanted to say much more than he did, his reservation, how he checked his impulses, the want in his features, the desire. She had been so foolish, afraid of wanting someone who might not want her back. She had been blind. It had been staring her in the face all along…

“You love me,” she said simply.


	13. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so fluffy and sweet, I'm bound to need some dental work.   
I apologise for nothing. THIS IS YOUR SUGAR WARNING. 
> 
> There are some cute cameo's in here too...

Waking up with Sansa Stark was very nice indeed, and as Jon gathered himself, still half wrapped in sleep, he hoped to whatever Gods there where, that it would not be the last time. It was different than the first time this had happened, months ago, in another hotel room. He had woken up to a cold bed, Sansa awkwardly trying to usher him out of the room, as he expertly ignored everything he wished he could have said to her. _He really was a fucking idiot._

He couldn’t dwell on it too much. His mother had always told him _good things come to those who wait,_ and Sansa was the best thing in his world, her and their baby both. He had been awake for some time, just laying with her nestled with her back against his front as they rested on their sides, wrapped in one another.

He knew she was likely exhausted. There had been whispered declarations and kisses well into the night, before he had made her fall apart again with his hands, and then his mouth until she had sobbed for him to stop, then he had fucked her slowly, so slowly, before they fell asleep wrapped in one another. He knew he should let her rest, but he couldn’t resist pulling her against him more and nuzzling her neck. It didn’t help of course, that she was gloriously naked.

He hummed contentedly, tracing patterns on her stomach with gentle hands as she arched her back, stretching into him like a cat, as she sighed softly.

“You love me,” she muttered sleepily as she wiggled back into him more.

He huffed a breath into her neck, “well you love me too.”

She hummed as he began peppering her neck with kisses, she arched again, exposing more of her beautiful, pale skin to him.

“I suppose I do,” she sighed, “what are you going to do about it, Jon Snow?” she asked coyly, and he could hear the smile on her lips.

“Hmm, I can think of a few things,” he spoke into her neck, whilst lazily dragging his hand up her stomach, over her chest before dancing his fingers lightly over her neck. She curved into him at that, pushing against his hardness. He grinned into her skin as he continued to nip and kiss along her neck, he loved cataloguing the things she liked.

He held two fingers in front of her face, “suck,” he whispered.

“Jon,” she breathed, turning her head slightly to look back at him. Gods she was beautiful, flushed skin, hair wild from sleep. He arched an eyebrow at her.

“I said… suck, pretty girl.”

Her eyes darkened in front of him, and she kept her gaze locked on his at she wrapped her lips around his fingers, encasing them in her warm mouth.

“Good girl,” he praised as he pulled them from her lips with a pop, dragging them down to her breasts and circling them around a nipple.

She moaned immediately, bowing into his body further, as he pulled and tweaked her nipple. He knew they were sensitive; she had loved this last night, chest heaving when he had taken them in his mouth, her breathy little moans making him ache for her.

“I could do this for hours,” he whispered into her neck, before sucking hard on her skin there.

“I love your filthy, bossy mouth,” she groaned out, as she pushed her arse back further into his hardness.

“Lady Sansa,” he tutted, “but you blush so prettily when I tell you how much I want your lovely cunt.”

“Jon,” she breathed, “I want you inside me,” she whimpered.

He groaned, pinching her nipple again one on good measure. His cock was painfully hard, despite having had her just hours before. He had no plan of ever denying her and he cursed into her neck as he felt the wetness between her thighs. He clutched at her hip harshly, screwing his eyes up to restrain himself as he pushed, blissfully into her from behind.

“Fuck Sansa, sweetheart,” he bit gently onto her shoulder to steady himself, “let me see you,” he ground out, pulling the sheet back, humming at the sight of their bodies, locked together.

“You’re so wet for me.”

She moaned and pushed herself back into him and he began to slowly, deeply thrust in and out of her. She arched like a kitten into him, moaning softly and he could have come then and there. He wondered how many more mornings they would have like this, lazily fucking the one they loved.

She reached down, clutching at his hand on his hip and moving it to her stomach, settling it on her bump.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, stroking her skin softly as he kissed and nipped along her jaw, all the while rocking into her easily.

She looked back at him again, biting her lip coyly, before bringing her own hand up to her mouth and sucking on two of her fingers.

“Fuck sweetheart,” he groaned.

She smiled at him innocently, this woman would kill him, before taking her fingers between her legs as they breathlessly moved with one another.

He whimpered like a green-boy, as she began to play with her nub slowly.

“That’s it, good girl,” he cooed, looking down at their bodies, groaning at the sight of her hands on herself, “use me sweetheart, make yourself feel good,” he told her as he began to thrust into her harder, no longer able to hold back in a torturous pace.

She whimpered and writhed against him, throwing her head back against him. He splayed his hand possessively against her stomach as he felt her tighten around him. She shuddered and exhaled his name breathlessly as she came. Gods it was perfect. 

He groaned into her neck as he came, deep inside her, holding her body against him and borrowing into her back bonelessly. She giggled softly in front of him.

“Gods, I fucking love you,” he puffed into her back. He felt her sigh contentedly, “I think watching you touch yourself may kill me one day, but what a way to go.”

“You’re an idiot, Jon Snow,” she laughed.

He slid out of her, walking her to the bathroom like she were a queen so they could clean themselves. He made her get back into bed straight after, wrapped in a sheet as he made her tea from the small bar and brought it to her in bed.

“We’re never leaving this bed,” he murmured to her, as she lay next to him, with her head on his chest.

“We may have to, my family will only come looking for me,” she rolled her eyes at him.

“Hmm,” he whispered as he ran his hands through her hair, “I don’t care,” he rolled her onto her back, resting his face near her bump, “I’ll barricade the door,” he kissed her stomach, “how is she, our little wolf?” he asked looking up at her.

“She?” Sansa questioned, lifting an eyebrow at him.

“Aye, she, she’ll be a wild little one, a real she-wolf, like Arya,” he whispered.

“Gods,” she snorted, “it would only be what we deserve, how do you it isn’t a boy?”

“A man knows,” he said cockily, he would happily make a fool of himself to make her smile as she was now, “besides,” he continued, “the next one can be a boy.”

She broke into laughter at him, “not so fast Jon Snow, one baby is quite enough to be getting along with,” she scolded him, swatting him away as he peppered her stomach with kisses, “enough, we need to get up for breakfast or Margaery will kill us.”

He really had been ready to lock her in the room forever, desperate to remain in their happy little bubble before facing the world, but he knew it wasn’t meant to be. He sighed at her, raising to his knees and lifting his arms in surrender, “ok, but shower first, you look far too thoroughly fucked to face your family like that, Rickon really will murder me.”

\----------

Jon had returned to his room briefly, doing the walk of shame in his Morning Suit in front of his best friend and family was not optimal, so he went back to his own to change. He made his way back to Sansa’s room, stealthily, and rather cowardly hiding behind a pillar when he spotted Arya.

He knocked briefly on the door, she opened it instantly, as if she had been waiting for him and pulled him in by the front of his t-shirt before slamming the door.

“Missed me so soon,” he cooed at her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her against him. She was utterly gorgeous, in her roll neck swing dress, thankful at least that it covered the litany of bruises on her collarbone.

“Be serious for one-minute Jon, I’m losing the plot here,” he frowned at the nervousness in her tone, she was even trying to wring her hands together at his chest. He grabbed them in his own, ducking his head to her level so she had to look at him.

“Sans, what’s going on?” Jon asked with concern, her hands settled gently on his chest, so he cupped her cheek with his palm, running soothing circles across her skin with his thumb.

“We’re about to go and have breakfast with everyone…” she whispered, eyes wide, as if it was the worst thing she had ever heard.

“Well I’m hungry,” he shrugged nonchalantly, highly amused by her current state.

“Last night we…”

“Yes, sweetheart, tell me exactly what we did last night…” he grinned as he kissed and nuzzled at her neck.

“Jon,” she scolded, she sighed softly, he could hear the smile in her voice, “last night was…”

“Perfect,” he finished simply.

“Perfect,” she agreed.

Jon pulled back, stroking his hand across her cheek and releasing her lip from her teeth with his thumb, “so what’s the problem sweetheart?”

“We haven’t spoken about what this means Jon,” she huffed, “effective communication hasn’t always been our strongest trait,” she said shyly, glancing down.

“Gods, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he whispered.

She bat his chest half-heartedly, “I will set Rickon on you, if you carry on Jon Snow,” she pouted, _Gods she was gorgeous._

He chuckled gently at her, rubbing soothing circles on the small of her back with his other hand.

“In case I wasn’t clear last night, Sans, I love you. I am in love you, and I have been for a while if I am being honest. So, pretty girl,” he said, meeting her round, blue eyes, “I’m all in if you are.”

She glanced down again, “I don’t want you to feel pressured just because of the baby,” she said quietly.

He would never be able to fathom how this beautiful, brave and independent woman was so unsure of the way she made other people feel, of the way she made him feel. He could have kicked himself for ever making her doubt how he felt, all because he hadn’t been brave enough.

“Sans,” he released a deep breath, “look at me sweetheart,” he asked, chucking her under her chin, “nothing makes me happier than knowing we are having this baby together, but baby or no baby, nothing makes me feel like a bigger prick than just not getting my shit together and asking you out when I was eighteen. I knew I wanted you then, and I would happily have Arya run me because I made us wait, but we ended up here all the same, so I’ll take that. All I know is that I want you, in every way, just be mine, please…”

“I think that’s the most words you have said ever,” she deadpanned.

“You’re killing me here Sansa…”

“Yes, Jon, of course yes. I want you, in everyway too,” she whispered, smiling against his mouth as she pulled his lips to hers, kissing him softly. His cheeks would surely ache, he was not accustomed to feeling so overcome with happiness.

“Ok, love of my life, mother of my child, lets go,” he said, kissing her once more before reaching for the door.

“It’s just the rest of our lives Aemon,” she giggled, hand in his.

He laughed, “it wouldn’t be enough Naerys.”

\----------

Jon walked hand in hand into the large drawing room, where Margaery had arranged for their guests to have brunch on the morning after their wedding. Guests littered various small tables, a larger one had been reserved in the middle of the room for the family, and he counted his lucky stars that he was counted among them.

Arya was the only Stark sat at the table, she was turned away from them, in her chair, talking to a man who was standing over her. He furrowed his brow as the man - dark haired and mysterious, with a glint in his eyes that Jon automatically felt was less than trustworthy he thought reasonably – grazed Arya’s arm with the back of his knuckles. He would likely need to tag team Robb, the guy was huge.

Sansa laughed softly next to him, gripping his hand harder, “easy cave man,” she leant in and whispered, her breath ghosting against his neck, the motion travelling straight to his traitorous groin. Gods he really would need to pull it together if he was going to be around her so much.

Sansa cleared her throat loudly as they came to the edge of the table. Arya spun her head around, her eyes covered with large, dark, sunglasses, she appraised them for a split second, before turning back to her companion quicker than a cat.

“Hustle,” she whispered exaggeratedly to him, before smacking him on the chest. The man grinned, walking away, but not before shouting, _“I’ll be seeing you, Arry,”_ over his shoulder.

“Arry?” Sansa queried, with a brow raised suggestively as she slipped into her seat.

“Don’t talk to me about boys big sister,” she drawled, “I went on a rager last night, the bar mush be dry by now,” she paused, “and I also saw McBroody over here hiding behind a pillar this morning as he slipped out of your room, so you haven’t got a leg to stand on Princess,” she said sarcastically, thumbing in Jon’s direction dramatically.

Sansa looked at Jon, biting back her grin, as one of her pretty little blushes spread up her neck.

“Yes, he could be an assassin, or make quite the Faceless Man with that display,” Arya continued.

Jon rolled his eyes at her before reaching for Sansa’s hand under the table.

“Hands where I can see them Snow,” Rickon half-shouted behind him, as he approached, scowling at Jon. Rickon has one hand in Margaery’s, as she glided alongside him happily, with Robb’s hand in her other, blissfully surrounded by Stark boys, whilst Bran happily brought up the rear.

“Good morning, my beautiful and wonderful family,” Robb sung, his hand still firmly gripped in Marge’s, Jon grinned at his friend, he’d always been a fool for girls, and he had finally found the one for him, wedded and happy. He felt a pang in his chest, he’s never thought he wanted such a thing before, until now.

“Please Robb, I – am – so – fucking – hungover, I am not in the mood for any displays of affection right now,” Arya grumbled behind her sunglasses, clutching at her orange juice like it was liquid gold.

“Oh really?” Margaery simpered gleefully as Robb nuzzled into her neck, Bran rolled his eyes at them, trying to sit next to the free seat at Sansa’s side, before Rickon shoved him playfully out of the way, claiming the honour, Sansa shot Bran a understanding glance out of the corner of her eye.

“…That’s such a shame Arya, because sweet little Gendry was just asking me if I would give you his number,” she smiled sweetly. Arya blushed furiously.

“Who the fuck is Gendry?” Rickon bristled.

“Language!” Sansa glared at her brother as he smiled sheepishly at her.

“Oh, Gendry… he’s quite lovely,” Marge rattled off, “he’s a friend of mine from the South, I’ve known him since he was knee high.”

“He isn’t knee high anymore,” Jon muttered, utterly perplexed at the thought of his wild, little Arya Underfoot, fraternising with men.

“Yeh, well….” Arya started, removing her sunglasses and casting a devilish smirk at him, “Jon’s feeling Sansa up as we speak,” she said petulantly. Jon pursed his lips at her, he would remember that one, she merely stuck her tongue out at him, as if to say, _‘if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me’_.

“We’re holding hands,” Sansa said, throwing her other hand in the air in exasperation.

“I’m happy for you sister,” Bran whispered over to her. Sansa smiled gently at him, Jon knew she had always had a soft spot in her heart for her serious brother.

Robb was grinning wolfishly across from him. He met his friends gaze, his brother in all but name, and thought desperately to supress his own beaming smile, but his efforts were futile.

“Say what you’ve got to say Robb,” he sighed, “you look far too cheerful over there, even for a newly wed.”

He felt Sansa straighten next to him, steeling herself, ever the lady.

“I haven’t got anything to say mate, I’m just happy,” Robb said, as he looked around the table, “however…” he began, appraising them darkly, “I don’t want any of the fucking details,” he said, pointing a croissant in Jon and Sansa’s direction, “and I want to meet this Gendry,” he glared at Arya as she swore at him, “and Bran, if you tell me one more time _‘Meera’s just a friend’_ I will actually combust,” Sansa giggled, smiling affectionately at her brother, “and Rickon, for fucks sake mate, cover that love bite, you’re sixteen, not an animal,” he said, tossing a sugar cube at him.

“No,” Rickon sighed wistfully, “I’m not an animal, but Shireen Baratheon might be,” he finished, looking into the distance as they broke into raucous laughter and cat calls around the table, all except Sansa, who traced her fingers gently across Jon’s knee, resting her head on his shoulder. He knew this would mean the world to her, the last of her family, together, joking, and full of love for one another.


	14. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes Sansa out and they bump into a face from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in nearly a week, I'm a bad person.   
I blame the three rowdy Bonfire Night celebrations I have attended in the last few days, because why wouldn't I?
> 
> So it's kind of apt that you're getting a new chapter today. 
> 
> Remember, remember, the 5th of November,  
Gunpowder, treason and plot! 
> 
> Don't let Guy Fawkes keep you down, sure Jonsa would've stopped him too. This is annoyingly sweet, I hope you don't hate it.

“Have you missed me?” Jon asked on the other end of the phone, Sansa could hear the cheeky tone of his voice and knew he was grinning.

“Meh,” she shrugged, although he could not see her.

“My Lady, you wound me,” he grieved.

Sansa laughed brightly down the phone, the truth was, in the five days she hadn’t seen him since Robb’s wedding, she really had missed him.

“How’s Hardhome?” Sansa asked, Jon had left shortly after the post wedding brunch on business, further North than she had ever been. The trip had been scheduled for some months and could not be avoided.

“Bloody freezing,” Jon scoffed.

“Call yourself a Northerner?” she quipped.

“I’d be much warmer in your bed sweetheart…”

Her cheeks flooded with warm and she felt her desire for him ripple through her body. He always had this effect on her, and she would be lying if she said it hadn’t helped her through the nights without him.

“Jon,” she whispered.

“Yes Sans,” he said quietly.

“I love it when you call me sweetheart,” she said coyly.

“Hmm, well sweetheart, there was something I wanted to talk to you about whilst I have you,” he began.

She repositioned the phone, resting it between her shoulder and ear as she continued packing away some of Rickon’s mountains of sports equipment.

“… Robb and Marge are still on their honeymoon,” he continued, “Arya and Bran are at school, and Rickon is at that Rugby tournament this weekend…”

“You’d make an excellent personal assistant Jon,” she laughed.

“What I mean is, you cheeky little thing, is that I potentially have you all to myself this weekend, and I know we have slightly gone about our relationship in a round about way…”

“If you are going to suggest now as a good time to start using condoms, you’re about five months too late handsome,” she said dryly.

“Very funny, no. I was thinking…” he paused, “would you like to go on a date with me this weekend?”

Oh.

“I would really like that Jon,” she breathed.

“Good,” he said, his voice thick with relief, “so I’m back tomorrow, shall I pick you up?”

Sansa was grinning down the phone like a fool, nodding to herself. Despite the unconventional nature of their relationship, she was a romantic at heart, she always had been. Sansa loved finding out little details about a partner, things they liked, nice things she could do for them, and in all honestly, she wanted the same. It was something she had never had with Harry, because he just had not been that way inclined. But, deep down Sansa knew Jon was different, simply from how he treated her, out of bed, but especially in it. It was as plain as day how much he liked to please her, and she would happily spend the rest of her days exploring that more with him.

“Say seven o’clock?” Jon prompted.

“Yes,” she laughed down the phone, “where are we going? What should I wear?”

“Princess, I am far too busy and important to answer such questions,” he drawled, and she huffed down the phone at him, “just be rest assured, I’m going to try and woo the shit out of you…”

“Well, I always did love a good wooing,” she sighed.

“Wrap up warm and bring an overnight bag so you can stay at my place after.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you Mr Snow,” she replied haughtily.

“A man can dream,” he whispered.

\----------

Sansa had been blind busy on the day of their date, their first date, that she had little time to fret about it before hand. She had packed up Rickon, shipping him off on the coach full of equally railed up teenagers for a weekend of rugby and chaos, and spent a good hour skyping Robb and Margaery from their honeymoon in Naath. Honestly, they had looked so ridiculously happy that it just made her miss Jon. Some might scoff at her for missing someone whom she hadn’t even had dinner with yet, but in her mind, being knocked up with his baby after a somewhat haphazard one night stand after supressing their feelings for one another for years on end kind of gave them a free pass, in her humble opinion.

She had thrown on a black, loose fitted roll neck dress, black stockinged legs and her ‘go-to’ knee high boots, he had told her he was mad for her legs the other night before he had her, and maybe she wanted to drive him just a little bit mad. She had kept her hair down, sleekly tumbling down her back and finished her outfit with a knee length, dark green coat, making her head look all the fierier.

She had heard his car rumble outside the front of the house, dashing to meet him on the front step and threw herself into his arms as he kissed her soundly on the mouth, threading his hands-on instinct into her hair.

“Hello, you,” he muttered against her lips.

She hummed in response, “nice car,” she cocked her head, “but I was expecting the motorcycle,” she muttered slyly.

“No chance Stark,” he said, settling her back down onto her feet, before brushing a thumb across her stomach.

She kept her arms linked around his neck and smiled at him through her eyelashes, “are we going to talk all night or are you going to kiss me some more?”

“Hmm, definitely kissing I think sweetheart, but first I wanted to tell you I love you,” he said as he nosed at her cheek.

“Well go on then,” she sighed in mock exasperation.

He scoffed in reply, “and I thought Arya was the annoying and sassy one.”

“I’ll call you daddy if you carry on,” she muttered as he groaned against her neck.

“You’ll be the death of me, Sansa Stark,” he whined as he nuzzled against her.

“No death, not at least until you’ve brought me dinner,” she laughed, “now grab my bag Snow, you promised to kidnap me to your place, remember?”

In truth, despite her bravado, she had thought about little else then spending another night, and many, many more with Jon, in his bed, or hers, or any flat surface if truth be told. Seeing him again, being in his arms and feeling his sinfully lovely lips lightly teasing her neck made her think of little else. But Sansa Stark was no animal, pregnancy hormones be damned, she would at least get through one evening with him before she begged him to take her to bed, keep her there all weekend and demand he do _that thing with his tongue_ over and over again.

“Come on, sweetheart, there is wooing to be done,” he breezed, tucking her under his arm.

\----------

As first dates went, it was definitely the best she had been on so far. The few she had been on during her school years had been, well… school like, her mother dropping her off to some musty cinema where some horny teenager had tried desperately to convince her to kiss him in the back row, and Harry had taken her to some gods awful pretentious restaurant where he bumbled awkwardly through the ‘tasting the wine bullshit’, he had little clue of what wine being ‘corked’ meant, just as she hadn’t at the time either.

Jon had exceeded all expectations; she never had any doubt that he would. Jon Snow just seemed to know her, to know what she would like. There was nothing false or showy about him, not like Harry. She had thought for a time that she loved him, but she was merely a pretty little bauble for him to show off. Jon hadn’t looked at like he owned her once, no, he looked at her like he worshipped her, and that was unnerving in its own entire way.

He had driven them into Wintertown and left his car near his apartment. They had strolled into town, on the way he had cursed her _damn boots_ and _damn legs_ and he’d told her he knew exactly what she was doing amidst her giggles and blushes. It was a chilly, Northern evening and they walked the cobbled streets, fairy lights strung high, crossing over head as they had for years, she had always loved this place, and it screamed romance.

Jon had walked hand in hand with her or wrapping his arm around her shoulder. This new version of Jon, the one who had readily accepted, finally, that he loved her, and she loved him, was so free and giving with his affections, and she greedily took it all.

He’d taken her to a new Dornish eatery, it was smart but casual and was littered with couples and miss matched furniture. When she had asked him why he picked it he had shrugged and muttered something about them doing an array of lemon dishes and she could have burst open right there and then. She had cheekily stolen food from his plate and he merely rolled his eyes and said she could eat anything of his she wanted. Dinner was delicious but she had certainly over indulged, but Jon told her that he had planned a walk for them after so they could work it off and she readily accepted, as she slipped her hand into his.

Their ‘walk’ was more of a short stroll through the ancient parkland in the middle of the town, which included an impromptu stop at the old carousel which stood proudly amidst the little stalls serving drinks and hot doughnuts.

She knew her eyes lit up when she saw it. She had forgotten the beautiful carousel was even here. She could still remember the first time her father had taken her and Arya on it when they were little. Sansa had pretended she was a princess atop her horse and Arya had imitated she was riding into battle. She could still recall her father’s hearty chuckle at their antics.

“Jon,” she breathed, turning to look at him, eyebrow raised in questions.

He gripped her hand in response, and smiled softly at her, “you always liked this kind of thing,” he said simply, and Sansa was certain that perhaps she had underestimated just how much and how long Jon had cared for her.

“Shall we?” he asked grinning softly.

She dragged him by the hand in response, climbing on determinedly as one ride had ended. She carefully surveyed the horses as Jon paid the operator.

“You seem to be giving this a lot of thought,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she studied the horses in front of her.

“This is a very serious decision Jon,” she intoned without humour, “one must choose their mount with care.”

“Maybe we didn’t think this through,” he muttered, as his hand rested on her bump, “perhaps the carriage,” he said, indicating the much lower option.

“No way,” she said, swatting his hand away, “don’t take this away from me Jon Snow,” she continued, walking up to a golden horse that met her strict requirements, “you can hold onto me if you want, besides, I intend to ride side saddle,” she muttered primly.

“You really are something else,” he mumbled, helping her up onto the horse, before settling against her legs below her, holding her around the waist.

She laughed freely as the ride began, the bright lights and music filling the air nostalgically around them. Jon stared up at her with mirth in his eyes, before stepping up onto one of the stirrups and pulling her into a bruising and breathless kiss.

“You’re mesmerising,” he murmured against her lips, before kissing her softly again. She forsook her horse’s reigns to pull him in, tipping his head back as she carded her hands through his hair as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She moaned against him in response and he pulled back, “mesmerising,” he muttered again, and she sighed softly. Later, she thought to herself, later she would kiss him till she was dizzy.

When the ride finished, Jon helped her down and pulled her to his side, placing his arm protectively around her. She shivered as she sunk into him.

“Come on you, lets get something to warm you up,” he said, rubbing her arm.

“And then back to your place?” Sansa asked coyly.

“If you play you’re cards right,” he laughed, “wait here, I’ll grab us something to drink,” he said, before kissing her chastely on the lips and walking over to one of the vendors. Sansa sighed softly to herself as she watched him walk away. He looked far too handsome for his own good, hair loose, skinny jeans and thick, winter jumper. She wasn’t sure what she had done to warrant being this happy. Five months ago, she had sat in a hotel bar, desperately lonely and sad, and here she was, in love with someone who loved her back, with a baby on the way.

“You’re her,” the voice startled her from her daydreaming, and she turned to face the stranger who had addressed her. She locked eyes with the woman who had been behind her. She was pretty, in a wild, earthy way, like Arya was, with her orange hair, brighter than her copper tresses, her face and round nose adorned with freckles. The woman’s pretty face was however, marred by her heavy scowl and a coldness to her eyes.

“I’m sorry?” Sansa asked, never one to fight her manners.

“You’re Sansa Stark,” the woman continued, as she crossed her arms defensively across her chest. She was shorter than Sansa, but her glare and stance was no less intimidating, as the woman ran her eyes up and down her before settling on her midriff, “tell me, what made you decide to trap Jon, out of all the other blokes I am sure throw themselves at a sweet little thing like you?”

“Excuse me,” she replied pointlessly.

“Or was he the only poor bastard who believed you when you said it was his?”

Sansa had always hated confrontation. She stood in shock, unable to formulate a response to the woman attacking her. She felt her face flush in embarrassment and felt her eyes prick with tears and she warily cradled her bump.

The woman across from her scoffed at the gesture, rolling her eyes, before mockingly inspecting her again, “I must admit, you weren’t what I expected, and then I saw you together, you don’t look like your typical whore…”

“Ygritte,” Jon had appeared behind Sansa.

_Jon._

Sansa looked back towards him, a cup in hand. He looked at her eyes, nodding grimly at whatever he saw there. He wrapped an arm around her, “come on Sans, lets go,” he said, gently trying to pull her away.

Ygritte barked a laugh out, “well aren’t you the little protector Jon, I at least hope you got that agreement put together like I suggested, save your little whore take you to the cleaners…”

Jon spun back around and faced her, “fuck you Yg, this isn’t you,” he scowled at her, “hate me, I get it, I hurt you, but don’t think I will stand by whilst you call her that, it’s disgusting,” he said, turning back to Sansa, wrapping his hand in hers and pulling her away. He walked determinedly to the edge of the square; Sansa was still absolutely speechless from the whole exchange. As they rounded a quiet corner Jon crowded her, cupping her cheeks in his palms and pulling her towards him.

“Sans, sweetheart,” he muttered as he pressed his forehead against hers, “are you ok?”

She nodded emotionlessly, “I think so,” she said quietly, “Jon, she said some messed up things…”

“Ignore it Sans, all of it, she is just lashing out, and…” he paused, “it didn’t end as amicably as I may have let on,” he grimaced.

“She said I trapped you, and implied the baby isn’t even yours,” she looked down, trying to mask her hurt.

“And we know that’s bullshit, she doesn’t know a thing about us, no one does.” He kissed her forehead reverently.

“What did she mean, about getting an agreement?” She asked looking up at him, brows furrowed.

He huffed a deep breath, “After I broke up with her, she called me and told me I had made a mistake, but she understood,” he stalled, looking up at the sky for answers he would likely not find, “she said if I got some sort of agreement in place, about custody, a paternity test, and restriction to money and all that shit, she would take me back.”

Sansa pulled back slightly, blown away, “are you serious?” she whispered.

“Deadly, I told her she was insane. That I would never do that to you, that I didn’t need a piece of paper to tell me anything I already knew, that this is my baby and that I am madly, idiotically in love with you,” he smiled softly.

“Jon,” she said gently, pulling back into his embrace, snuggling closer, “I would give you all of those things if you wanted, tests, financial agreements, anything.”

He laughed into her neck, “you’re mad if you think I would ever ask that of you Sans, you’ve already given me everything I could ever ask for,” he said, pulling her closer, “I’m trying to stay calm to be honest sweetheart, but when she called you _that_ I could have screamed…”

“What, a whore?” she interrupted him dryly.

“Don’t ever say that Sans, please,” he begged, pulling back and looking at her fiercely.

She nodded shyly, she wouldn’t push him too far, trying to cover her feelings with humour. She knew Ygritte had clearly liked Jon more than she had let on, loved him maybe, and that she had been hurt, she had Jon and now Ygritte didn’t, she couldn’t be too upset with her about that, but to call another woman a whore, well that had been an utter surprise to her.

She leant forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

“Tonight was so perfect too,” she lamented.

“It really was,” he groaned in annoyance before nipping at her lips.

“Still the best date I’ve ever had,” she said breathlessly as he nuzzled at her jaw, “but I’m sure you can make it up to me…”

“Hmm,” he sighed as he nosed his way down her neck, “I’m sure I can think of one or two things, they definitely involve these legs and these boots though, just to warn you”

“Well, you did promise to woo me,” she sighed, “take me home Jon Snow.”

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did a bad thing to Ygritte. I said I wouldn't... but I did.  
I'm sorry, I know some if you will be cross with me.
> 
> Rose (a wilting one)   
Xx


End file.
